


Our Familiar Ghosts

by dwell_the_brave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Child Death, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Ghosts, H/D Pottermore Fair 2015, Haunting, Hogwarts, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Hogwarts, Teamwork, Ten Years Later, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwell_the_brave/pseuds/dwell_the_brave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a student is killed by the ghosts of the Battle of Hogwarts, only a week before the tenth anniversary, Headmistress McGonagall submits a plea to the ministry to send help, and who better to send that the Hero of Hogwarts himself, Deputy Head Auror Harry Potter. They also send Department of Mysteries Unspeakable, Draco Malfoy, an expert in ghosts and the magic surrounding them, and, despite not having talked for nine years, Harry and Draco must team up to figure out what - or who -is causing this unusual ghostly activity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Familiar Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [sara_holmes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes).
> 
> For [Prompt #108](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oKxFrF86d2c3FuVesbbG1NW8mLM0kphzpOwJLy225kY/edit?pli=1).

_The ghosts swarm._

_They speak as one_

_person. Each_

_loves you. Each_

_has left something_

_undone._

 

Winter still hasn’t yet quite given into Spring yet at Hogwarts, and the entrance courtyard is empty, save for a few stray owls and a lone, male figure. He stands, robes whipping up in the wind, staring at the cobblestone ground, a pinch of concentration between his eyebrows. Memories wash over him - the sounds of spells snapping against stone, the shouts and screams of the fighters and the fallen, but also the last memory he has of this place - standing on one side and shouting as the one person he loved, and who he believed loved him back, walked away. The sound of heels clacking on the stones as someone approached brought him out of his memories, and it was only when they stopped, did he look up and smile.

“Headmistress,” he says, reaching up to adjust his glasses on his nose. 

“Mr. Potter - or is it Head Auror Potter, now?” McGonagall greets him, folding her hands into the open sleeves of her robes, looking over the rim of her glasses at him. He shuffles, a little self-conscious even after 10 years, but her gaze is amused, and even a little fond. 

“Still Deputy Head, Headmistress,” he says with a small smile, and she lets out an amused huff. She steps forward and offers a hand, which he takes, shaking it in greeting. 

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, and at such a difficult time for you too,” she says, her expression sympathetic. Harry gives her a weak smile and lets go of her hand, stepping back, and looking back down at the cobblestones. There are scorch marks all over the courtyard, but the one directly beneath his feet isn’t as old as the others. McGonagall watches him, her arms wrapped around herself. 

“I came as soon as I could. I’m sorry to hear of the school’s loss,” he says and McGonagall's face falls. She hugs herself a little tighter. 

“Miss Lyne was a third-year student - Hufflepuff, a promising aptitude for Charms. Such a waste,” she says with a sigh, tilting her head away from the scene. “Have you been shown to your rooms?” 

“Yes, thank you. One of the Elves showed me earlier,” Harry says with a smile, going along with her change of subject. McGonagall gives him a weak smile and says nothing further. After a pause, Harry clears his throat and nods back down at the ground, and the scorch marks. “What happened to Miss Lyne?” 

“She was on her way back from a lake-side evening stroll on Thursday night, running a bit late to get back before curfew. She cut across the courtyard and then-,” McGonagall makes a gesture with her hand. “A group of students are a little bit ahead of her. They heard a loud explosion, and when they turned around, she was… well,” Harry nods, knowing for years of experience that asking further questions won’t reveal any new information. McGonagall’s information lines up exactly with what the reports noted. 

“And you believe it was the ghosts?” Harry asks, the hair rising on the back of his neck a little. In the years since the Battle of Hogwarts, it has become well-known that on the anniversary of the battle, the Ghosts of the dead reappear and do battle once again - and that the magic surrounding them had been spiking more and more each year. 

McGonagall gives him a baleful look, so familiar to the ones that he got as a schoolboy that Harry unconsciously stands a little straight, suddenly highly aware of his crooked Deputy Head Auror pin on his robe. McGonagall’s gaze drops again after a moment. 

“They have been restless. More and more students are reporting being disturbed in the night, and even the House Ghosts are a little unnerved. Peeves hasn’t been seen in over a week, possibly hiding somewhere. We’re all a little…” she pauses and turns her face into the wind as it whips through the courtyard. “On edge. It’s the tenth anniversary this year,” she says and Harry nods, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“I’m aware,” he says, gently. McGonagall smiles at him and holds out her hand again, which Harry takes -she squeezes his hand in hers, a small gesture of comfort. 

“Of course you are - more than anyone else, I would dare say,” she says quietly and Harry allows himself to nod in agreement, to acknowledge the loss he - all of them - have suffered. They stand for a moment in silence, and then McGonagall lets his hand go. “I’ve asked for an expert on ghosts to come from the Ministry as well. He should be arriving shortly before supper - in the meantime, would you care to take a walk through the castle?” she offers, turning to angle her body back at the wide oak doors leading into the school beyond. Harry shakes his head and smiles apologetically. 

“Thank you, Headmistress. I promised Neville I would pop by the Greenhouses about this time, so I don’t want to keep you. I’ll see you at the staff meeting this evening?” he says and McGonagall nods, and turns on her heel, walking away briskly. 

Harry looks down at the scorch marks again and takes a moment to study them. There is nothing outlandish about them, but then he is not an expert on ghosts, or the magic surrounding them. With a sigh, Harry steps away and heads through the Oak doors, taking a leisurely pace through the castle as he heads towards the greenhouses. 

A small group of students walk out as he approaches, and the students that walk by are subdued, heads bent together as they talk quietly amongst themselves. Harry lets them pass and then heads inside the humid heat of Greenhouse Three, enjoying the thrill of warmth after standing outside in the brisk wind.

“Neville?” Harry callsout, trying to spot a familiar figure through the veritable jungle kept in the Greenhouse.

“Harry! I’m over by the Fanged Geranium,” Neville shouts back from somewhere deeper inside the building, and so Harry sets off down the neatly maintained paths, ignoring the Snapping Dragons that nip at his ankles as he walks past. 

Neville was where he said he would be, holding a small toothbrush and gently using it on the Geranium, whose leaves are trembling happily. Harry eyes the plant with a smidgen of distrust, and waits until Neville puts the toothbrush down and gives the plant a soft pet, like one would a small fluffy animal. No wonder Neville and Hagrid had formed a sort of kinship in the last few years.

“Afternoon, Harry - don’t mind me, just need to do a few things before I close up for the evening,” Neville says, turning to look at Harry over his shoulder with a small smile. He looks tired - deep shadows under his eyes and pale skin telling Harry all he needed to know.

“What year were those students in, Nev?” Harry asks, leaning gingerly against the potting table nearby - none of the plants on it looked overly dangerous, but one never knew. Neville sighed and stepped away from the Geranium, who bared it’s fangs in protest. 

“Hufflepuff Third Years - they’re my Sunday study-group, do some work around the greenhouses in exchange for me talking their ears off about plants,” he says with a small smile, but then it fades. “We’ve tried to keep them going in some sort of routine, but understandably, not all of them are coping very well. Especially Sophie’s close friends,” Neville says, dumping the toothbrush in a nearby sink. He peels off his dragonhide gloves and drapes them over the sinks edge, and gestures for Harry to follow him, which he does. “It’s only been two days, so we’re not expecting them to bounce back - but a lot of students are scared. This year has been particularly hard. Some students haven’t been sleeping, too worried that the ghosts will get them in their sleep. There have been more apparitions than normal. I, well, I saw Bronwyn Crewe, do you remember her? Fifth year Ravenclaw, she died on the seventh floor corridor - anyway, I saw her the other night. Standing in the middle of the corridor, shivering something awful. Nearly gave me a heart attack,” Neville says with a forced light-heartedness that he knows Harry will see through, which he does. As Neville locks up the Greenhouse, Harry grasps his shoulder firmly and then they turn to walk back to the castle, robes brushing the grass and collecting dew as they pass. They fall silent for a minute.

“Are the ghosts usually this aggressive?” Harry asks and Neville hums to himself, thoughtful.

“It’s been… building, for a while. Especially in the last year or two. They never appear during the year, only around this time with a fortnight or so either side, and they always get restless around the anniversary. The students know to be careful where they go, and we teachers usually set Repellant charms on the main areas of the battle, the courtyards and some of the corridors, a day or two before the anniversary. And on the day of, most students stay in their Common Rooms all day, as there are never any classes,” he explains and Harry nods. He had returned to Hogwarts himself to sit his NEWTs, and on the day of the anniversary, he found himself sat in the Great Hall all day, all of the students and teachers talking in hushed whispers, none of them willing to do anything more than remember that day - and it had founded a new school tradition, where no classes took place on May 2nd, and all the students gathered, either in Common Rooms or the Great Hall. “A few students have got caught up in some of the battle Echoes, but no one has ever been injured, just… shaken,” Neville explains, but he doesn’t elaborate, just closing the iron-wrought gate behind them as they walk through the castle walls. They walk in silence for a minute, the sound of their foot-falls echoing in the stone corridors.

“I’m sorry to hear about you and Ginny,” Neville says carefully and Harry straightens a little, anger clawing at his gut. He had hoped this assignment might distract him from the goings-on back in London. 

“Really? I’m not,” he says a bit nastily, and Neville tuts at him.

“It can’t be easy. You’ve been married, what, seven years now?” he asks and Harry nods a little. 

“She’s moving out this week, into _his._ Taking my children with her as well,” he says, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. Neville sighs and then leads the way back into the castle, cutting the conversation short. He leads Harry through the corridors to the staff room, and they settle themselves down for the afternoons staff meeting - Harry leans against a wall in the corner of the room nursing a cup of tea, more interested in listening than participating, while Neville settles himself into a squat leather armchair with an ease that suggests this is his designated seat within the room. Other teachers come in, Flitwick now walking with a cane thanks to spell damage he received during the battle, and Binns floating in through a wall.A few of the teachers Harry doesn’t recognise from his school days give him curious looks, and a majority of those gathered keep looking over at him, but he ignores them in favour of studying their interactions - a few seem nervous, some are quiet, and Flitwick looks weary. 

Hagrid came lumbering in a few minutes later, and he grins at Harry, pulling him into a bear hug so strong that Harry is lifted off his feet.

“‘Arry! McGonagall said you’d be comin’,” he says happily, setting Harry down on his feet again - Harry subtly readjusts his glasses as he smiles up at the half-giant, who looks back down at him fondly.

“It’s good to see you, Hagrid. How are things?” he asks, genuinely interested. Hagrid looks ready to launch into a rambling discussion about his latest acquisition, but then McGonagall herself enters after the rest of the teachers have gathered, and accepts a cup of tea, a biscuit, and Dumbledore’s old armchair by the fire, and so Hagrid retreats to the sagging loveseat by the bookcases, and settles down with an alarming groan from the couch. McGonagall smiles at the assembled group, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Good evening, everyone. Before I explain Mr Potter’s presence, does anyone have anything of importance to address?” she asks the assembled group, and the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher (holding the position for a new record of 7 consecutive years), Zuri Cadwallader, speaks up, her accent clipped, twisting a necklace of beads around her fingers. 

“There was a magical flux on Friday afternoon during my fourth lesson, Ravenclaw second years. A few of them had a fright and became a little overwhelmed and so I sent them to Madam Lewis,” she nods at the School Nurse, who smiles weakly. McGonagall looks over at her.

“I gave them a slight sleeping potion and put them to bed. They were asleep for most of the afternoon - they were suffering from sleep deprivation,” she explains, and Harry appreciates her straight-forwardness. Madam Pomfrey has chosen a worthy successor, it seems, in Uzoma Lewis. McGonagall sighs, looking weary to the bone. 

“That’s the sixth group in the last week. House Heads, what’s happening?” she asks the room at large. Neville, recently promoted Head of Gryffindor House, pipes up.

“Gryffindor tends to stay up late - into the early hours, really, but the older students are keen to get the younger ones to bed earlier. There have been a few inter-year sleepovers. Pritchard, one of my seventh years, has taken up residence in the second year boys room, he says they won’t go to sleep unless he’s there,” Neville says, something like pain in his voice. Harry notes that all the other teachers look distressed too. 

“There seems to be a mass camp-out in the common room for the Hufflepuffs,” the new Transfiguration professor, Finnbar Kavanagh, says in an Irish lilt. He reaches up and tugs slightly on the high collar of his dark green robe, looking uncomfortable. He’s a fair bit older than Harry and Neville, heading into his late fifties, but he has an open, friendly face. “The Elves put it all to rights every morning, and by the evening, there’s no room to move for duvets, pillows, and conjured mattresses. I can’t get them to stay in their rooms,” he continues, shaking his head and a few of the teachers tut in sympathy.Flitwick speaks up next, 

“Ravenclaw sixth and seventh years are staying up all night, patrolling. I’ve had Chambers and Pang faint in the last week for exhaustion. They insist - otherwise the younger years won’t sleep. They’ve also had an… experience in the common room,” he says, looking into the crackling fire, his gaze a thousand miles away. 

“Not uncommon,” a new voice chimes in from by the door and Harry turns to face the newcomer - his jaw drops open as Draco Malfoy lowers the hood of his cloak, adjusting the satchel slung over his shoulder. “The Ravenclaw tower experienced one of the more emotionally charged scenes of the battle - it is where Potter defended Madam Headmistress, after all. What did they see?” he asks Flitwick who looks over at McGonagall for approval.

“Please, Filius,” she says, tiredly. 

“They saw Amycus Carrow, screaming,” he says and an oppressive silence fills the room. Harry stares at the cuff of his sleeve, not daring to look around. There are somethings he did during the battle that he is still ashamed of. McGonagall turns to look at Slughorn, who is sprawled into a wingback armchair, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. 

“How are Slytherin doing, Horace?” she asks and Slughorn rubs a hand over his face.

“The older years are giving the younger ones sleeping potions,” he admits and there is a cry of outrage from some of the other teachers. “ _With_ my authority,” he says gruffly and Madam Lewis looks thunderous.

“One dose too many could put those children in a coma, Horace! How can you possibly condone-,”

“Because if I don’t, my students will be gibbering wrecks, like yours,” he snaps, and the rest of the Heads of Houses look outraged.

“We are doing are _very_ best to keep our students safe,” Flitwick says, his voice pitched low. His gaze has sharpened on Slughorn, who looks uncomfortable. 

“Horace - you will stop this, immediately. From tonight. We do not _drug_ our students,” McGonagall says, her hand tight on the mug of tea she holds - Slughorn looks properly chastened, and nods. McGonagall nods as well, curtly, before she leans back in her chair. “And now to explain the presence of Auror Potter, and Unspeakable Malfoy. They have been called here after I sent word of our plight to the ministry. Mr. Malfoy is an expert in ghosts, and the magic surrounding them, and Mr. Potter has significant experience with Warding spells, and he also has a… strong connection with the Battle,” she explains, and she has the decency to look a little embarrassed. The other teachers give them nods of greeting, which Harry returns, as Malfoy just stands with his arms crossed over his chest, impassive. “Please, if they ask you for more information, do give it to them. The anniversary is in five days time - we do not need any more injuries or, Merlin forbid, deaths, not in this castle. Please, speak to your Houses before supper - especially _you_ , Horace,” McGonagall shoots Slughorn a dark look, which he ignores in favour of draining his tumbler of whiskey, to which the other professors stared at him with distaste. But, McGonagall's words were very much a dismissal, and so Harry waits against the side of the room as the faculty slips out, Malfoy taking the spot of empty wall beside him. They don’t speak, and Neville gives Harry an apologetic glance as he disappears out the door.

“Gentlemen,” McGonagall calls them over once everyone else has drifted away. Harry slips into Neville’s vacated seat, while Malfoy drapes himself into Slughorn's armchair, his satchel settled down by his feet. “Before we begin, I hope the two of you have overcome any animosity you might’ve once held towards one another,” McGonagall asks, looking at them over the rim of her glasses. Harry feels a flush settle on his cheeks, and takes a second to hope that the firelight hides it - he doubts it, though. He looks over at Malfoy, who steadfastly does not meet his gaze. 

“That won’t be a problem, Headmistress,” Malfoy says curtly, shifting in his seat. Harry ducks his head and looks at his clasped hands in his lap, a bit of tension draining out of him. 

“We’ll be able to work together,” Harry says, and McGonagall seems to accept this as enough. She takes a moment to remove her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose, an uncharacteristic display of tiredness. Harry’s eyebrows raise.

“I am at my wit’s end. You two, Merlin help us, are my last resort. Our priority is to do what we must to protect the students. I cannot have another student, not a single one, die while I still govern this school,” she says, looking at them both. Harry nods. She sighs and looks into the flames. “We have lost too many, already,” 

“Seventy-nine,” Malfoy says, his voice quiet. He, too, is staring into the fire. “Seventy-nine students gave their lives at the Battle of Hogwarts. Some were casualties of battle - others died in the crossfire. Seven Slytherin first years were killed when the ward preventing the lake from leaking into the dungeons was broken. They all drowned,” he says, and Harry thinks back to his return to Hogwarts, and the noticeably small Slytherin second year class, who always kept to themselves and looked at the rest of the student body with something like fear. Malfoy’s gaze snaps away from the fire and he catches Harry’s look. “Have there been any experiences in the dungeons?” he asks, and McGonagall shakes her head.

“Not to my knowledge, but the potions classroom was moved to the ground floor a few years ago. There isn’t much need to go for many of the students to go to the dungeons nowadays, aside from the Slytherin students,” she says and Malfoy nods. 

“I think I should perhaps start there, then. I would think there would be a lot of activity around there at the moment. This evening, Potter?” Malfoy says as he moves to stand, gathering his things. Harry nods, a little dumbfounded, as Malfoy gives a small bow and exits the room, the heels of his boots clicking as he walks away. He turns back to McGonagall with an expression of bewilderment. 

“Mr. Malfoy is an expert on ghosts, Potter. He’s the best the ministry has. Please, don’t rile him up,” McGonagall says, almost pleadingly, and Harry bites back the urge to point out that _he_ doesn’t rile Malfoy up, Malfoy riles him up. 

“Of course. Headmistress,” Harry says, inclining his head before standing and leaving as well. He adjusts his robes and sets out through the door, only to be stopped by Malfoy just beyond. 

“We’re going to have to be civil,” Malfoy says bluntly and Harry shakes his head.

“I wasn’t going to go around hexing you,” he says. Malfoy rolls his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant. Look, we’re supposed to be helping to settle these spirits, and we can’t do that if we’re,” and then he struggles for words. Harry stares at him for a second and Malfoy shakes his head. “Forget it,” he mutters, turning to walk away. Harry reaches out and snags the sleeve of his robe, grasping the fabric in a fist.

“I can’t,” Harry says after a beat of silence. Malfoy stares at him. “I can’t forget. I tried. But that year-,” he takes a moment and swallows, his throat clicking. Malfoy is still staring at him, his eyes scanning Harry’s face. “Please, Malfoy - I don’t want to fight you, not _here_ ,” he says, sweeping his other arm out behind him, a gesture to encompass the whole of Hogwarts. Malfoy’s clear eyes search his face for a second but then he nods. 

“Very well - not here,” he says and then he brushes Harry’s hand from his robe and walks away, leaving Harry alone in the corridor. 

**{#}**

“Are you sure you don’t want to be here?” Hermione says, chewing on her bottom lip anxiously, her face flickering in the flames of the Floo. Harry huffs annoyedly but shakes his head.

“No - it’s better that the boys don’t see this,” he says, resolute in his decision to stay away as Ginny packed up her belongings and left Grimmauld Place. Hermione looks pained, and a bit of coal crackles in the heat, causing a burst of flame to lick at her hair.

“… Albus has been asking where you are,” she says, her voice a little pleading, and Harry ignores his heart clenching a little at the mental image of his youngest son. 

“Hermione, please - stop asking. I’m not coming back. I, honestly, can’t bear to face her,” he says and Hermione sighs and nods a little.

“Trust me, Harry - Ron and I are having a hard time looking her in the eye too,” she says, scowling a little. She shakes her head a little and puts on a small smile. “How’s Hogwarts?” she asks, and Harry tilts his head a little.

“Unnerved - the battle ghosts are apparently acting strangely this year. A student was killed a few days ago,” he says and Hermione nods, humming a little in agreement.

“Yes, I had heard about that. Did the ministry send anyone?” she asks and Harry tenses slightly, almost preparing to tell her.

“Yes - Draco Malfoy,” he says quietly and Hermione looks aghast for a second, before frowning at him.

“Don’t try to get involved, Harry. Now is not the right time-,” she says and Harry splutters at her.

“ _Involved_? Hermione-!”

“Harry,” she snaps, and he shuts his mouth. She sighs at him. “You are so very dense sometimes - what you and Malfoy had, well, that was a long time ago, and it didn’t exactly end on good terms, did it? And with what you’re going through - don’t do anything stupid,” she says, half-begging, and Harry, knowing better than to argue with her, nods. “Good,” she says, looking relieved. Her head turns a little, and she nods to someone, before turning back. “I have to go - the boys need distracting. If you can come, Harry-,” she says and Harry shakes his head again.

“Hermione - please,” he says and she frowns at him. “Give my boys a kiss for me, will you? I’ll Floo in a few days,” he says and then Hermione bids him good-bye and then the Floo clangs shut. Harry sits back on his haunches and runs a hand through his hair, sending a bit of soot spilling onto the rug by the hearth that he’s kneeling on. It doesn’t do much to soften the slabs of stone under his knees, he thinks as he stands up with a groan.

He glances at the clock on the mantle piece in his small suite of rooms. He has been given spare professor lodgings, so the suite is quite a bit larger than he expected - a kitchenette, living area, bathroom and bedroom, sparsely but comfortably decorated. His small trunk of belongings had already been unpacked by the House Elves, and the few decorative items he bought with him were already set on the mantle-piece, including a picture of his parents on their wedding day, Ron and Hermione cradling baby Rosie, and one of James with baby Albus held close. Harry smiles at the images, touching a finger tip to his baby sons face, before a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. 

He calls ‘enter' and the portrait door swings open to let Malfoy into the room. He is dressed the same as he was earlier, with his satchel still hanging from his shoulder. Harry slips his wand into his thigh holster and looks around.

“Do I need to bring anything?” he asks, trying to a polite tone, but the raise of Malfoy’s eyebrow suggests he shouldn’t have asked.

“I have everything we’ll need. Come along,” he says, turning on his heel and disappearing out of the doorway, Harry scrambling to keep up behind him.

“Do you think something will appear soon?” Harry asks, and Malfoy keeps looking straight ahead.

“Tonight is not necessarily about seeing something - rather, it’s about experiencing the rise and fall of the magic within the school overnight. We know most of the action of the battle took place between midnight and 4am, with another burst between 6am and 8am. We need to find out if any specific times trigger the magic, or whether the apparitions appear randomly,” Malfoy explains as they step onto one of the moving staircases - with a jolt, it starts to turn, and Harry grips the bannister. 

“Do you think it will have some significance?” he asks and Malfoy shrugs one shoulder.

“In my experience, yes. Haunting cycles tend to take place regularly, and in line with the events that caused the haunting to begin with. It will also help establish what type of ghosts we have here in the castle,” he says, stepping off the staircase as it comes to a stop. Harry follows, frowning to himself as he tries to keep up with the conversation. 

“What do you mean, what type of ghosts?” he asks and he can practically see Malfoy roll his eyes, even with his back turned.

“Honestly, Potter - you didn’t think all ghosts were like the Bloody Baron or Peeves, did you? Well, Peeves is a poltergeist, though a benign one at that, but the House Ghosts are technically Phantoms. They retain their personality and memories of their lives, and are able to interact with the living, on a conscious level. Some choose to remain, others don’t get the option, but they are all very aware that they are ghosts, and that they are dead. There are others, like Binns, who are another type of Phantom, but they don’t know that they’re dead, and so they interact with the living with the assumption that they, too, are still on our plane of existence. They’re also called Intelligent Hauntings,” Malfoy says and Harry nods, still feeling a little left behind. They are nearly at the Great Hall now, and the dungeons aren’t too far away.

“And what do you think the ghosts are, here?” Harry asks, somewhat dreading the answer. Malfoy slows his pace a little, and tilts his head to look back at Harry, his pale eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

“I’m not sure, yet,” he admits, and Harry nods. They pass the Great Hall, with chatter still coming from it as supper winds down, and walk further down the corridor, to the staircase that leads into the bowels of the castle.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks, feeling a wave of magic wash over him, leaving his skin tingling. He grins at Malfoy, who rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be so Gryffindor, Potter,” Malfoy says waspishly, though he tucks his robes a bit tighter around himself. “I’ve informed the Headmistress of our whereabouts, and she knows that if we do not reappear by dawn, to summon my superiors at the Department of Mysteries,” 

“Why - do you think something will happen to us?” Harry asks, grin slipping from his face as a tug of concern pulls at his stomach. Malfoy pulls his wand out of his robe, and a jar out of his satchel - with a murmur, he conjures a flame, and like Hermione all those years ago, seals it in the jar. He turns back to look at Harry.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he says, his voice low but steady, and then he slips into the darkness of the stairwell, the blue flame flickering gently ahead of him. Harry steels himself, nods, and then follows Malfoy down into the dungeons.

**{#}**

It has been three hours since they sat down in the old Potions classroom, and Harry’s arse is completely numb. Malfoy has parchment and a quill set out on the work bench in front of him, and he hasn’t moved a muscle for the last fifteen minutes, while Harry is sat on the floor by the door, his back to the cool stone wall.

He is bored, remarkably so. They have done nothing but sit in the silence for the last two hours, and the first hour was only taken up by the occasional scratch of Malfoy’s quill, or Harry humming to himself. After the sixth reprimand for silence, he had stopped. There has been no sign of activity, though Malfoy keeps looking up and around every now and then. Harry is about ready to call it quits, when the temperature in the room drops dramatically, mist forming in front of his face as Harry breathes out. The candles Malfoy has set up on the workbench flicker, and then die, leaving only the blue flame aglow. 

It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice on him, and in a second Harry is up on his feet, heading quickly towards Malfoy, hand automatically going to his wand. Malfoy holds a hand up, palm forward, to signal to him to stop, and Harry does, trying to breathe deeply through his nose through a rising sense of panic. As an Auror, he is used to being in hostile work environments, but nothing like this. The atmosphere is oppressive, and a sense of dread trickles down his spine, causing him to shiver. 

“ _Please_ ,” he hears from behind him, and Harry whirls around, wand drawn. 

Standing in the door way is a small girl, probably only just eleven-years-old. Her uniform is dripping with water, strands of wet hair plastered to her face, but where her eyes should be are nothing but voids, empty dark holes. Harry involuntarily takes a step back. “ _Please. I’m so cold,_ ” she whispers, and her voice bounces off the walls like a thousand echoes. Malfoy grabs Harry’s arm from behind him, holding him steady, and Harry breathes. The girl steps forward, her face crumpling. “ _Why won’t you help? Please - we’re all dying! I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t-_ ,” and then she is swept up in an invisible wall of water, lifted from the ground, her body arching as if she was floating, her mouth open in a silent scream. There is the sound of a dam bursting, of water rushing forth, an unearthly shriek and then the girl rushes out the door in an invisible tide, leaving only a small puddle where she had stood.

Harry releases the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and Malfoy’s grip slackens. They are silent for a few minutes.

“Fenella Trask,” Malfoy whispers, breaking the silence around them. Harry turns in his grip and stares at him, wide-eyed. Malfoy doesn’t meet his gaze. “She was one of the first years who drowned. She was eleven,” he says, releasing his hold on Harry’s arm, and turning to write something down on the parchment. Harry breathes in shakily, gripping his wand a little tighter to ground himself.

“Are they all like this?” he asks, feeling his eyes burn - what he has just witnessed has left him shaken, and his skin is still prickling with the feeling of magic. 

“Yes,” Malfoy says, straightening. He keeps his eyes on the piece of parchment as he speaks. “If they’re all like this, they’re Shades. They repeat their deaths over and over again. They can see us, but it’s like speaking underwater, anything we say or do gets warped and lost somewhere,” his fingers are blanched white around his quill and with a _snap_ it breaks in two. Harry reaches out and puts his hand over Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s head whips up and around, and he looks at Harry intently, breathing rapidly, but Harry waits until the tension bleeds out of Malfoy’s hand before stepping away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Do you need anything else for tonight?” Harry asks, and Malfoy starts gathering his things, putting them away in his satchel.

“I want to walk around the castle, see if we can spot anything else,” Malfoy says, slinging the bag over his shoulder and picking up the jar - the flame flickered, but didn’t die. Harry nods, raising his wand and muttering _lumos_ , a small orb of light flaring to life at the end of his wand. He leads the way out of the dungeons, carefully stepping over the puddle the ghost had left behind, and not daring to look back until they were in the safety of the well-lit ground floor corridor. Malfoy clutched the jar tighter in his hand, and took off towards the entrance courtyard, Harry hurrying along beside him.

“What are you hoping to see out here?” he asks, a bit viciously, but Malfoy ignores him, throwing out an arm to stop Harry walking into the courtyard proper once they reach the outer walkway. 

“Look,” Malfoy says, nodding forward, and Harry turns his gaze back to the courtyard. The sky is cloudy, but the moonlight manages to filter through the gaps and every so often, it catches a flicker of movement. Harry inhales sharply. In the light cast by the moon, there a perfectly frozen moments of the battle. The moonlight skims over ghostly skin, catches on the faces of the long-dead and Harry presses a hand to his mouth, eyes darting all over to take in as many details as he can. 

“Oh Merlin,” he breathes, and Malfoy nods beside him. The moon is blocked out again as a cloud floats past, and the figures are lost again to the darkness. Harry cranes his neck and looks at the clocktower - the time is 12:02 am and if memory serves him right, this was the hour that the creatures from the forest charged into battle as well. Malfoy sighs next to him and tilts his head back to look at the sky.

Harry surveys the scene a bit further, trying to catch any more glimpses of the ghosts, and then out of the corner of his eye, he sees a figure moving in the darkness. “Hey!” he shouts, and that startles the figure into a run, Harry hurdling over the low stone wall and sprinting after him, wand drawn already. “Stop!” he shouts again as the figure ducks underneath a stone archway, and disappears around the corner. Harry fires off a non-verbal _stupefy,_ but it simply rebounds harmlessly off some stone into the open air, and when Harry rounds the corner, the figure has disappeared. He gasps for breath, and when he turns around, Malfoy is right behind him, looking shaken.

“What was _that_?” he asks and Harry shrugs. 

“I don’t know - _someone_ ,” he says. Malfoy frowns and sighs, the moonlight catching on his hair, turning it silver.

“It might be a student out of bed,” he says and Harry shakes his head. 

“No - I don’t think so.” 

**{#}**

“He’s mad,” Neville says the next morning at the staff table during breakfast. It’s Monday morning, so the Great Hall is full of students prepared for the week ahead, robes neat and ties fastened. Harry butters a crumpet and bites into it, humming in both agreement, and pleasure. “And, what, he was perfectly fine with seeing that ghost girl in the dungeons?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fine’,” Harry admits, putting his elbow on the table and tilting his body to face Neville. There is a smattering of giggling from the students at one of the House tables, and Harry knows that if he looks, most eyes will be trained on him. His fame hasn’t waned just yet, it seems. “He seemed rather shaken, actually. He knows the girl, I think.” 

“Well, he would. During that year, Malfoy put himself on the line a lot, for the younger Slytherins,” Neville says contemplatively, taking a sip of his black tea, causing Harry to cringe. He takes another bite of his crumpet and thinks, brow furrowing. He leans forward a little, looking towards the other end of the table, where Malfoy is sitting next to Cadwallader, both of them talking with serious looks on their faces. 

“I didn’t know that,” he admits and Neville shakes his head.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you? There were a few little ones that took a shine to Malfoy, really latched on to him, especially in those last few weeks. Poor kids,” he says, his voice sad, as he sets down his mug of coffee and picks up his fork. He spears the eggs that have been cooling on his plate and Harry watches as the yolks bleed yellow onto the china. 

“Did you know any of them?” he asks, his own voice sounding distant even to himself. 

“A little. There was a third year Hufflepuff, Amirah Zaman, I used to help her with her Herbology homework… She got caught in the crossfire between Dolohov and Dean and Parvati. I don’t think Parvati has ever forgiven herself,” Neville says. The last few times Harry has seen Parvati, she had been looking increasingly frail and tired, and according to Hermione, had become addicted to Dreamless Sleep potions. Harry didn’t blame her. 

“Has anyone encountered Amirah?” Harry asks, and Neville shakes his head. “Nev - I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you write down the names of anyone who you’ve… encountered? I’ll ask McGonagall and a few of the other teachers as well. We’ll try and find out, why them,” he says and Neville nods. Next to him, Kavanagh stands to leave the table, and knocks over a cafetierre, spilling coffee down the staff table. Neville clears it with a flick of his wand, and he sighs. 

“I can tell you why, Harry,” he says, his voice low and soft. Harry leans in a bit closer. “Because none of them were supposed to die then - and not in the middle of a battlefield. Excuse me,” he says, standing. He adjusts his robes and he bids Harry a good day, before leaving the Great Hall at a slow jog, some of the students smiling at him as he passes, while Harry stares after him. For all his pessimism during their school years, Neville was never one to give into such morbid thoughts before. 

Harry takes a moment to gather his thoughts before rising too, heading towards Malfoy, who looked up as he approached. Cadwallader has disappeared from the table, and so Harry takes her empty seat, adjusting it to face Malfoy fully.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asks. Malfoy looks over at him, and cups his hands around the mug of tea on the table in front of him.

“I need you to check the Wards around the castle, see if they’ve weakened. If so, it could be causing the magical fluxes which are allowing the spirits to cause damage to their surroundings,” he says, speaking more to his tea than to Harry.

“And you?” Harry asks. Malfoy looks over and gives him a grim smile. 

“I’ll be in the library.” 

**{#}**

Harry spends the first half of the morning going over the Wards on the grounds. At first, nothing is out of the ordinary, until he notices a tiny starburst blight down by the lake. Unfortunately the blight is a little bit further into the water than Harry could study, without diving in himself, but the sight of it gives him pause. 

After the War, he had been one of many volunteers who had helped reconstruct the Wards around Hogwarts. Some, like McGonagall, were teachers; others, like Molly Weasley, were parents, and more, like Andromeda Tonks, were extremely powerful witches or wizards. Harry fell into the category all of his own as the Boy Who Lived, but all he really wanted was to repair his home as best he could. 

He sees some of his own magic in the Wards, even ten years later, and once he sees one blight, he starts to notice them more and more. They are like pox-marks all over the Wards, scarring the weave of magic around the school. He spends a few minutes leaning out of the Astronomy Tower window, studying one of the blights, before deciding to track down Malfoy. He stops at one of the portraits on the staircase, and a regal teenage girl suddenly loses all her composure when he taps on her frame. She blushes and shoves the bouquet of flowers she’s holding onto the table by her hip.

“Harry Potter!” she says with a grin and Harry smiles. 

“Sorry to disturb you - I was wondering if you knew where Draco Malfoy was?” he asks and the girl presses her lips into a fine line and frowns. 

“Why would you want to see him?” she asks and Harry fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m working with him right now. We’re trying to help the ghosts,” he explains and she wraps her arms around herself with a shiver.

“Which ones? Not Nick or the Friar?” She asks, looking a bit worried - she must think Harry is trying to banish some of her older friends, so he gives her a reassuring smile. 

“No, not Nick or any of the other House Ghosts. The Battle Ghosts,” he says, and her pigment fades around her face as she pales. She steps back and sits heavily on the pile of cushions stacked artistically behind her. 

“There’s no helping those ghosts, Mr. Potter. They’re not supposed to be here,” she says, her voice so quiet Harry has to strain to hear her, but then she points, and Harry decides to leave her alone, following her gesture down the staircase to the next landing. 

Which is where he finds Malfoy, tucked into an alcove, flicking through a book. 

“Potter,” Malfoy greets him as he approaches, eyes not even flicking up. Harry freezes and frowns.

“How did you know it was me?” he asks and Malfoy mutters something into the pages in his hands. Harry edges into the alcove and sits himself on an outcrop of stone. “Sorry?” he asks and Malfoy’s eyes flick up, before rolling with exasperation.

“I recognise the way you walk,” he says, a bit clearer, but his voice clipped and there’s a hint of colour on his cheeks. Harry freezes and leans back , top of his head brushing the curve of stone above them. Malfoy shuts his book and huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Don’t take it to heart, Potter,” he says, before standing and stepping out of the alcove. Harry follows him, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“How’s Astoria?” he blurts out and Malfoy freezes, not looking at him. “And Scorpius, is it? He must be Bussy’s age now,” Harry says with forced politeness and Malfoy turns slightly, still angled away from Harry, but enough that Harry can see his face a bit more.

“My wife is currently in the south of France with her lover, and my son is staying with my mother,” Malfoy says icily and Harry’s jaw drops, subconsciously stepping forward to reach for Malfoy’s shoulder - the other man flinches away.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, feeling stupid for not being able to say more. Malfoy flicks his gaze over, sniffing disdainfully before turning and walking away.

“We’re not here to _bond_ , Potter. We’re here to put these ghosts to rest,” he says over his shoulder, heading down the stairs with an easy grace. Harry follows him, albeit a bit slower, and ignores the slightly hurt feeling he has. Malfoy clears his throat and continues talking, his voice carefully neutral. “I thought we might interview some of the Professors. See if they have any connections to the battle,” he says and Harry huffs in annoyance.

“That’ll be all of them, then,” he says and Malfoy’s back stiffens a little, as if offended.  
  
“All that we know of, except two, Potter. And we might as well ask.” 

**{#}**

They find Cadwallader first, sitting in the entrance courtyard in a thick jumper under her robes, with a book in her hands. She greets them with a smile, as though she were expecting them all along. 

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy,” she says in her clipped accent, smiling widely. She gestures and they sit next to her, a bit further along the low stone wall. “I thought I might be visited by you today,” she closes her book and settles it on her lap. “How can I help?” she asks and Harry starts.

“We were wondering if you could tell us about your experiences with the War?” he asks and she lets out a little ‘ah!’ of understanding.

“I can’t help really, Gentlemen. My family are all from South Africa, and at the time I was studying at the Johannesburg Akademie van Toordery. The War here in England seemed very distant. Though now I live in the very castle, it seems so much nearer,” she says with a small, sad smile. Malfoy tilts his head, interested.

“How?” he asks and Cadwallader gives him a grim smile.

“Nearly all of my students were effected in some way or another. Parents, or Cousins, or Grandparents died in the War. I can name only a few who were not effected. And the ghosts, of course,” she says, nodding in Harry’s direction. Malfoy frowns.

“Have you ever seen any of the ghosts, outside of the anniversary? Like the way they’re appearing now?” he asks and Cadwallader shakes her head. Her beaded earrings catch the afternoon sun and look like little droplets of fire. 

“The activity this year is… unusual. I’ve seen them before, of course. We teachers have held vigils in the past, out here on the night of the anniversary, to bear witness. But not the way they are now - they seem so much more… lost,” she says and Malfoy nods. Harry thanks her for her time and they leave her be.

“Kavanagh, next?” Harry asks and Malfoy nods. 

Kavanagh is teaching a class in his classroom, and he is showing a group of first years how to transform small animals into goblets. Harry ducks a little as a sparrow tries to make a run for it through the open classroom door as they walk in, but Malfoy shuts the door just in time, and flicks his wand, the sparrow freezing in mid-air. He plucks it gently from the air and places it on the desk of a rather distraught looking Gryffindor. Harry gives her a wink behind Malfoy’s back as they walk past.

“If we could have a few minutes of your time, Professor?” Malfoy asks,  the tone of his voice giving no room for argument. Kavanagh looks a little concerned, but nods and instructs his class to keep practising as he leads them into his office just off to the side, leaving the door open a little to hear the students.

“Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years,” he explains with a shaky smile, and gestures to them to take seats. Harry settles into the armchair and leans back, lacing his fingers over his middle. Malfoy leans forward, his body language alert and interested. 

“We just have a few questions in regards to the War, if you don’t mind?” Malfoy asks and Kavanagh tugs on the collar on his high-necked robe, but nods all the same. “Did you participate?” Malfoy asks, and Kavanagh nods, going a little pale.

“Yes. I was a resident of Hogsmeade at the time – it would’ve been remiss of me if I hadn’t,” he says, and Harry nods. Malfoy continues.

“Do you mind me asking what side you fought on?” he asks and Kavanagh’s eyes narrow a little – asking people their allegiance had become a bit of a taboo in recent years.

“The side that won,” Kavanagh said through clenched teeth, giving Malfoy a dark look. Malfoy doesn’t so much as flinch, but doesn’t say anything further.

“Did you know anyone who was lost in the battle?” Harry asks, and Kavanagh flinches a little, but shakes his head. Harry frowns, but then Malfoy interrupts.

“Thank you for your time, Professor. If you think of anything that might be of interest…?” Malfoy asks, and Kavanagh nods, settling back in his chair as they leave his office, Harry looking over his shoulder behind him.

Out in the corridor, he mutters furiously to Malfoy. “He was _clearly_ hiding something,” he says and Malfoy gives him a significant look. “Why didn’t you ask more?” he asks.

“Because asking more would’ve caused him to shut up _more_. He wasn’t going to tell us, so what was the point in asking?” Malfoy argues, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“And this is the _exact_ reason why you didn’t get into the Auror training programme,” he says under his breath, but obviously not quietly enough, as Malfoy hears him and knocks him straight into a wall, leaning close to his hand either side of Harry’s shoulders.

“I didn’t get into the Auror training because I was a _Death Eater_ , Potter, not because I know when to stop asking stupid questions,” he snarls and Harry’s breath gets caught in his lungs. Malfoy pushes himself away and crosses his arms over his chest, looking thunderous. “History was written by the victors, Potter - don’t be so arrogant as to forget that,” he says, before storming away, leaving Harry leaning against the stone wall, his heart pounding in his chest. 

**{#}**

Harry stands in front of the Griffin that protects the Headmasters’ office and taps his foot impatiently. The Griffin hasn’t budged an inch when Harry tried as many passwords as he could try to guess, and then threatened it with a demolition spell, to which the Griffin had only looked at him balefully. Harry resists the urge to whack his head against the nearest wall.

“Potter?” he hears from behind him, and he turns to see McGonagall coming up behind him, her robes swishing lightly against the stone floor. He smiles at her. 

“Headmistress - I had thought I should come by to give you an update,” he says and she quirks an eyebrow at him, and then nods. 

“Bastet,” she tells the Griffin, who starts to turn slowly, and Harry jumps on one of the stone steps while McGonagall elegantly steps on. Harry stands to the side at the top of the staircase and McGonagall taps on the office door with her wand, the lock clicking open to let them both in. 

“Tea, Potter? Or maybe something a little stronger?” she asks and Harry shakes his head, settling into a seat opposite McGonagall’s desk. She sits across from him and leans back in her armchair a little, looking at him expectantly.

“How is your investigating going, Mr. Potter?” she asks, and Harry leans forward a little.

“The ghosts are… unusual, based on Malfoy’s response. But Headmistress, I must let you know - the Wards are damaged, quite severely,” he says and McGonagall pales a little. 

“How?” she asks, and Harry shakes his head.

“I don’t know, not without investigating further. There are blights all over, even down by the lake. It might be the reason for the magical fluxes,” he says and McGonagall nods. “I don’t know if it’s related to the ghosts, however. That’s something you need to talk to Malfoy about, but I would be happy to stay on after to do what repairs I can,” he continues. McGonagall raises an eyebrow at him.

“And how is your partnership with Mr. Malfoy going?” she asks, and Harry frowns.

“Fine,” he says.

“I know you’ve both had your difficulties in the past, but… well, during the time when you were back with us for a year, I honestly believed you boys had turned things around,” she tells him with a shrug of her shoulders. Harry feels the heat rising on his cheeks, and scolds himself a little.

“Headmistress?” he asks and she smiles at him.

“I may not be quite as omnipotent as Professor Dumbledore, but I am fully aware at what goes on at my school, Mr Potter. For a time, you boys were inseparable, joined at the hip. I fully expected a petition from Mr Malfoy to be resorted into Gryffindor. But after - well, you were never the same, either of you,” she says and Harry frowns. McGonagall leans forward and sighs. “Do not let the mistake of Professor Dumbledore become your mistake too, Mr Potter. Be _happy_. It is what they would’ve wanted for you,” she says, her voice laced with sympathy. Harry can only nod dumbly at her, rising to stand.

“Thank you for your time, Headmistress,” he says, before leaving, feeling a little dazed. 

**{#}**

That night, he and Malfoy take up residence in the ground floor corridor, just outside the Great Hall. It’s weirdly colder than down in the dungeons, and they’re both sat on the floor facing the oak doors leading to outside. Malfoy has charmed another blue flame into a jar, and Harry has conjured a squishy air mattress, along with some warm blankets - when Malfoy gave him a baleful look earlier in the evening, Harry had snapped at him.

“You might enjoy dying of hypothermia, Malfoy, but the rest of us don’t,” he had said, and Malfoy had rolled his eyes, before taking a blanket off him and spreading it over his lap as he folded himself onto the air mattress.

It is just after 11pm, when Harry tilts his head to look at Malfoy.

“Why does your wife have a lover?” he asks. 

“Oh _Merlin_ , Potter, could you be any more inappropriate,” Malfoy says, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. He keeps his eyes trained on the door. Harry twists the blanket between his fingers and thinks, before taking a deep breath.

“Ginny and I are divorcing,” he says in a rush. Malfoy still stares ahead, and so Harry drops his gaze to stare at the blanket on his lap. “She’s moving out this week. Into her new boyfriend’s place,” he says quietly and Malfoy stiffens. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Malfoy says, more to the door than to Harry, but Harry perseveres. 

“How can you be okay with your wife living with someone else, some _where_ else? I just can’t-” 

“ _Potter_ ,” Malfoy snaps, though his voice is half-irritated, half-pleading. He turns his face to look at Harry, his features flickering in the cool blue light given off by the enchanted flame. “I said _stop_. I don’t want to talk about this. Do you think this is the right time or place?” he asks, and Harry shrugs.

“We’re sitting along in the dark, Malfoy. I don’t know if there’s any other time that could be better,” he says, smiling a little. Malfoy huffs and leans back against the wall, tilting his head back to study the stone arches overhead. There is a minute or two of silence before either of them speaks again.

“Scorpius will be two this week. His birthday is May 2nd,” Malfoy says quietly, trying for a change in subject, and Harry just waits, and lets him speak. “I would like to be there, to wish him Happy Birthday,” Malfoy admits after a long pause and Harry nods. 

“Bussy just turned two,” he says to his hands, where they’re cupped in his lap. Malfoy shoots him a glance.

“Bussy?” he asks, and Harry shrugs one shoulder.

“We named him Albus - but then the minute the ink was set on the parchment, I thought better. My elder son, Jamie, has a name that’s not his own, and I didn’t want that for my other son. But, Ginny convinced me to leave it - she was convinced he hadn’t ‘grown into it’, whatever that means.” Harry shakes his head with a small laugh. “So, I call him Bussy. Better than Al, at any rate.” Harry looks up at Malfoy, who gives him a small smile.

“Yes - infinitely,” he says and Harry laughs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. 

The blue flame flickers a little and the Oak doors creak. Harry glances again at Malfoy, who nods once, and then they both slowly settle in place, neither moving a muscle. A chill rises from the floor, creeping up them slowly so that Harry can feel it clawing at his neck, dancing up his skin. Malfoy looks as uncomfortable as he feels.

In the distance, Harry can hear the sound of thumping, echoing and repetitive - it’s coming from the Grand Staircase. He holds his breath as another wave of chill washes over them, gasping a little as his skin breaks out in goose-bumps. Between them, magic crackles in the air. 

The repetitive thumping grows louder now, until Harry recognises it for what it is - marching. All of a sudden he remembers the sound of marching as the students of Hogwarts trooped down to the Great Hall on that fateful night, none the wiser that in only a few short hours, some of them would be dead. 

Malfoy’s hand reaches out and grips around Harry’s wrist, holding him tight, and he turns to head to face the Grand Staircase. 

The first row of them appear. Haggard and worn, with windswept hair and ragged robes, the long dead students of Hogwarts make their way down the stairs. They are pale, transparent in places, flickering in others, all of their eyes dark voids like Fenella’s had been. Here and there, faces flicker into images of skulls, or screams, as they pass where Harry and Malfoy are sat, lining up outside the hall. 

One or two pairs of void-like eyes flicker down to them. A few desperate faces turn to look at them, the ghostly image of a young boy mouths ‘ _Help me_ ’ before shouts start in the distance.

‘ _Go, run!_ ’

‘ _NO!!_ ’

‘ _Diffindo!_ ” 

“ _N-no! No, Alex, no!_ ” 

and the shouts build in volume until Harry has to actively resist clamping his hands over his ears, the sound deafening and thunderous, the ghostly students lined up in front of them, faces turned towards the Great Hall. A terrible gust of wind strikes up in the hall, whipping Harry’s hair this way and that, blurring his vision with it’s strength, and with tremendous effort, he reaches up and pulls Malfoy’s face down to his shoulder, tilting his own body inwards towards the wall to protect them from the wind.

With teary vision, Harry looks through one eye to see that all the students mouths have dropped open in silent screams, and then they disappear. 

Harry gasps for air, and Malfoy coughs against him, chest heaving. Harry doesn’t let go for a second, arm thrown over Malfoy’s head to keep his safe, but eventually they lean back, both still breathing deeply.

“What was _that_?” Harry asks and Malfoy coughs, shaking his head. His hair is tousled, windswept, whereas Harry knows his would look like he had just stuck his fingers in a socket if he looked in a mirror.

“Ghost March,” Malfoy gasps out and then he coughs again, hand pressed against his mouth. Harry pats himon the back a few times, until Malfoy gasps in another breath of air. He shakes his head, and leans back against the wall, shaking slightly. “Souls of the lost gathered together to march through their place of death. Sometimes, even to their deaths,” he continues and Harry shakes his head.

“This is completely _mad_ ,” he says emphatically, and Malfoy chokes on a laugh. Harry thumps him on the back again. “Are all ghosts this…” and he waves a hand in the air, gesturing haphazardly.

“Dramatic?” Malfoy suggests, reaching up to push his hair back and neaten it up a little. Harry doesn’t even bother with his own hair. “They have a lot of energy at the moment, as it’s so close to the anniversary. It’s… unusual, but not unheard of,” Malfoy says and then he pushes the blanket aside and rolls to his feet in one movement. “Best get to bed, Potter. We have another busy day tomorrow,” he says, turning to leave. Harry scrambles to his feet, lunging after him and grabbed the waist of Malfoy’s tailored robe. The other man raises an eyebrow at him.

“Do you have a plan, yet?” Harry asks, and Malfoy sighs, before shaking his head slightly.

“Come to the library tomorrow,” he says instead of offering any reassurances, and then he darts away, leaving Harry with his hand half curled. Harry straightens, swears, banishes the items he conjured for the evening, before bending and picking up the little jar with blue flame inside. 

“What would Hermione say?” he asks himself, before frowning. He holds the jar in one hand and grasps his wand in the other as he ascends the stairs.

**{#}**

Being in the library with Malfoy, is surprisingly similar to being in the library with Hermione, Harry establishes rather quickly. Both manage to stack a surprising number of books onto a very small corner table, and both know exactly the book you’re looking for, before you even realise you’re looking for it, Harry realises as Malfoy slaps a slim leather tome down in front of him. 

“What to do if you encounter the spirit of a friend,” Malfoy announces to him, and Harry cringes away from the book, looking at Malfoy, a little pained.

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” he says, feeling a little wounded, and Malfoy shrugs as he lowers himself into his seat, tucking his robes around him.

“No, but you desperately wanted to. Read it - it might be useful,” Malfoy says as he pulls another leather-bound tome towards him, this one at least ten times thicker than Harry’s book. There is a small notebook and quills set out in front of him, and Harry leaves the table briefly to ask a nearby student for a roll of parchment and a quill - a very polite Ravenclaw Sixth year hands it over without asking for an autograph first, and Harry takes her name so that he can ask Neville to give her some points. He settles back into his seat to find Malfoy already thoroughly absorbed in his book, and so Harry sighs and shakes his head, before putting his nose to the grinder too. 

Time flies on the pages of a book, or at least Hermione has told him so a dozen times, but Harry starts to go a bit cross-eyed two chapters in the book. It is also written in an old dialect, which makes it a bit harder to parse, and so every few minutes Harry has to keep jotting down sentences in order to run a translation charm over them, because Madam Pince (who is no less terrifying these days) does not allow the library books to be charmed. 

Once he gets a bit further into the book, however, it actually becomes interesting. There are a few chapters where the author talks of his own experiences with the ghosts of his friends and loved ones, and even gives details on how to summon them.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, reaching over to poke Malfoy in the arm with his borrowed quill - Malfoy looks up, a little startled, having been lost in the words of another book. “This book tells you how to summon the spirits of friends,” he says and Malfoy shoots him a sharp look.

“No,” he says and Harry rolls his eyes.

“But what if we could? What if we could speak to one of them? Find out something useful?” he says, a bit desperately.

“Yes, and what if we summon them and they’re in the middle of their death throes? And we get to watch them die, all over again?” Malfoy says, his voice sharp and high. A few students look over, a bit frightened. Malfoy leans forward and pitches his voice lower. “No, Potter. The dead do not belong with the living. Don’t ask again,” 

“But-!” Harry says, but Malfoy throws him a dark look and Harry’s jaw clicks shut. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, feeling suddenly like a sulky teenager. He rises to stand and leaves the library without another word. 

He finds himself walking down to the empty Quidditch pitch, the warm late spring sun making him smile despite his bad mood. He unlocks the Quidditch shed and grabs a fairly decent looking broom, walking to the centre of the pitch before swinging a leg over the broom and kicking off. 

The rush of air takes his breath away every time, and he lets out a ‘ _whoop_!’ as he goes soaring higher, until the Quidditch stands are far below him. The sun beats hot against the back of his neck, and so Harry flies laps around the pitch, getting used to the brooms nuances. 

By the time he feels happy with the broom, he has a small audience on the Quidditch pitch, and so he sets to work, doing the smattering of tricks he learned over his summer holidays with the Weasleys, and the last year he spent at Hogwarts, having returned to his position of Seeker. 

A few students join him in the air, and they start a sort of impromptu match - they don’t release a snitch, but take it in turns passing the Quaffle and seeing who can score the most points. A Slytherin fifth year is very fast on her broom, and flies like a bat out of hell, but the Hufflepuff seventh year is the clear winner, a stocky young man with incredible broom control (even if Harry did let him have a few of the shots).

They land just as the sun sinks below the forest, and the students thank him profusely.

“No, thank _you_. Best fun I’ve had in years,” he says to the grouped students, and one of the assorted Hufflepuff girls frowns at him.

“But didn’t your wife play for the Holyhead Harpies?” she asks and Harry smiles at her, ignoring the pain in his chest.

“Yes - but, sadly, you doesn’t play Quidditch in your garden if your wife is the best chaser they’ve ever had,” he says, which causes a ripple of laughter to pass through the students. He lifts his gaze and spots Malfoy, lingering a bit away, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. “Back to the castle with you, then. It must be getting towards dinner time,” he says and the students thank him once again, before they troop away. Harry walks over to Malfoy, broom gripped lightly in his hand. 

“Don’t fancy a Seeker’s game, do you?” he asks with a smile, and Malfoy almost begins to smile back, before a shadow passes over his face. He takes a step away.

“No, thank you. I had thought I’d better let you know, we’ll be in the astronomy tower tonight,” Malfoy says, and Harry frowns. 

“Oh?” he asks. 

“Yes - a great deal of the defensive activity took place there. And I thought you’d better know, I want to go into the Room of Requirement tomorrow,” he says, and the words send a chill up Harry’s spine. He tightens his grip on the broom in his hands.

“What do you want with the Room of Requirement?” Harry asks, and Malfoy says nothing, shaking his head slightly. Harry huffs impatiently, turning his eyes up to the sky. “Do you really want to see Crabbe that way?” he asks and he ignores Malfoy’s venomous gaze. 

“The Room of Requirement, tomorrow morning. Astronomy tower, tonight. Don’t be late,” Malfoy snaps, before he walks away with the _swish_ of a robe. Harry counts to twenty, a trick Molly Weasley taught him (for how to deal with the Terrible Twos really), and then when he next looks around, he is alone on the pitch. 

**{#}**

The astronomy tower is a lot more peaceful than Harry thought it would be. There is a cool breeze coming in from over the lake, and the sky is cloudless, so they can see the stars clearly. Harry had once again conjured an air mattress, and is watching the stars, quite content to be quiet this evening. Malfoy, on the other hand, is fuming like it’s going out of fashion. 

An hour into the strained silence, Harry snaps.

“What?” he says, pushing himself to sit up with a scowl. Malfoy is curled into a conjured armchair, a blanket wrapped around him, the jar with the blue flames, their only light, balanced between his legs and his chest as he reads a book by it’s glow. He scowls at Harry, but pointedly goes back to his book. Harry sighs, kicks off the blanket that was wrapped around his legs, and walks over, plucking the book out of Malfoy’s hands and slamming it shut forcefully. “I said _what_ ,” he repeats and Malfoy looks about ready to punch him. Harry sighs and rolls his eyes. “ _Malfoy_ ,”

“ _Why_ do you call me that?” Malfoy says, pushing himself out of his chair, setting the jar on the floor by the armchair, squaring up to Harry so they’re almost nose-to-nose. “Why do you insist using my surname like we’re still two silly schoolboys who have this,” and he gestures profusely, lost for words for a second. “ _Childish_ rivalry that means _nothing_ in the big scheme of things,” he finishes in a rush and Harry blinks at him for a second, and then scowls.

“ _I’m_ childish?” he says and Malfoy scowls.

“That is _not_ what I said-,” he starts, and then Harry interrupts.

“I wasn’t the one who decided to stop talking to you, Malfoy. I wasn’t the one who decided we couldn’t be friends,” he says, bringing the book to his chest, gesturing to himself. Malfoy scowls even harder, a muscle in his jaw ticking slightly.

“You were the one who _ended_ it,” Malfoy says and Harry frowns at him.

“Ended _what_ , our friendship?” he asks and Malfoy throws his hands up in the air, stepping away. 

“For Merlin’s Sake,” he says, sounding pained, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Can’t you at least say what it was? We were _dating_ , Harry, we were together, and then one day you upped and decided you didn’t want to be with me, you wanted to be _normal_ , and that meant marrying Ginny bloody Weasley, even though you could barely stand the sight of her that year, and now-,”

“And now _what_?” Harry asks and Malfoy looks up at the ceiling and holds himself a little tighter.

“ _And now_ you’re getting divorced and you can’t cope with that, so you’re back here at Hogwarts, trying to be the boy hero again,” he says and Harry doesn’t think, just grabs the front of Malfoy’s robes and bodily slams him against the nearest wall, which causes Malfoy to let out a _whoosh_ of air.

“We were not _dating_ ,” he says, and Malfoy laughs a little.

“Of course we fucking were, Potter - we held hands, we kissed, Hell, we even fucked, and you want to swear up and down we weren’t dating? Merlin,” he says, leaning his head back, letting out a humourless laugh. 

“We were - we were _involved_ but that doesn’t mean,” Harry struggles to reason with what Malfoy has said, and the other man just laughs a little more. Harry releases his grip on Malfoy’s robe and steps away. “Oh _Christ_ ,” he says.

“Welcome to your sexual crisis, Potter,” Malfoy says, though he sounds a little apologetic. He brushes past Harry and then freezes. “ _Harry_ ,” he murmurs and Harry turns, ready to start arguing again, but then all his breath freezes in his lungs, noticing for the first time how the temperature has dropped dramatically in the tower. 

Tonks is standing in the middle of the tower. 

Her eyes are the black voids like the other ghosts they have seen, and her chest is heaving with gasped breaths. Her hands are down by her sides, and she tosses her head, mouth twitching. Harry gapes at her.

“ _Remus_ ,” she breathes, and Harry gasps. “ _Help. Help, Remus, help me, help me, Remus, please, help me, help-!_ ” and then she lets out a blood-curdling shriek, before her body is thrown back suddenly, disappearing through a wall with a loud _crack_. 

There is silence in her wake and then Harry falls to his knees and retches, struggling to breathe for a moment. Malfoy is on him in a second, kneeling in front of him, one hand on Harry’s shoulder and another pushing back his hair, trying to soothe him. Harry shivers weakly for a few minutes, before leaning back, tears streaming down his face. 

“Tonks,” he croaks and Malfoy nods, looking pained.

“I know - she was my cousin,” he says and Harry shivers again.

They stay like that for a minute, but then Harry pushes himself to his feet and Malfoy follows suit, dusting off his robes as he stands. Harry starts to gather his things, and Malfoy reaches out to him, grasping a hold of his robe.

“Harry,” he says and Harry shrugs him off.

“I can’t. I need to - I need to go,” he says and then he hurries past and takes the stairs down two at a time. He reaches his rooms and strips out of his robes, pulling on his flannel pyjama pants, climbing into the bed and pulling the duvet around him, shivering slightly and willing sleep to take him. 

Eventually, it does.  

**{#}**

Something makes Harry wake up just before dawn. A damp chill has risen in his quarters, and nips at his skin as he tosses and turns in bed, trying to ignore it and trying to go back to sleep. It’s only when it feels like someone’s breathing down the back of his neck, does Harry sit up and fumble for his glasses.

The room is dark except for the first light of day filtering through the curtains, but there is no mistaking the figure leaning against the fireplace. Harry’s heart leaps to his throat and his skin prickles with magic, as Severus Snape turns to face him. 

He looks much like he did when he was alive, aside from the horrible blood stains down his front and the wound on his neck. His eyes are dark, but not the same voids as the other battle ghosts had, and Harry frowns.

“ _Good. You’re awake_ ,” Snape rasps, gliding over to stand at the foot of the bed. “ _I haven’t much time. You must listen, Potter. It’s been found. He found it, in the forest, and brought it back to the school, and now it’s wreaking havoc. The dead cannot rest, Potter, not while the-_ ,” and then like a candle, Snape’s image flickers, and dies. 

Harry waits for a long moment before inhaling sharply through his nose, choking back the sudden urge to cry. A wash of sadness has passes over him, an intense feeling of loss, and it claws at the back of his throat uncomfortably. Harry kicks off the duvet cover, and grabs the nearest jumper, pulling it on over his pyjamas, and leaving the suite without looking back.

It’s only when he’s at the staircase does he realise that, for one, he’s forgotten his slippers, and also, he has no idea what he’s doing out here. It’s at that moment that Nearly Headless Nick slips out of the opposite wall, startling the West Highland Terrier that inhabits the portrait he passes through, and he pauses when he notices Harry.

“Well, Harry Potter,” he says, his voice sharper and clearer than the spirits Harry had seen over the last few weeks. “As I, excuse the expression, live and breathe. I had heard you were back at Hogwarts. What are you doing out of bed at this time? Not up to your usual mischief, are you?” Nick says with a smile, tilting his head a little until it wobbles dangerously - he adjusts it with a hand.

“No, not - uh, Nick?” Harry asks, twisting the cuffs of his jumper around his fingers. “You don’t happen to know where Draco Malfoy is staying at the moment, do you? Only - I need to talk to him,” he says, feeling a little desperate, and Nick frowns.

“My dear boy, it’s five in the morning. Can’t it wait?” he asks and Harry shakes his head, running a hand through his hair in distress.

“Not really. I just saw - I saw the ghost of Severus Snape, and he was warning me, and I-,” he chokes a little, feeling that wave of despair wash over him again. He rocks back a little on his feet and Nick looks alarmed.

“Of course - follow me,” he says and then he drifts away, taking Harry up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor. A portrait of Circe is hanging from one of the walls, and she looks up when Harry approaches. She smiles lazily, seductive, and leans forward in her chair, her dark curtain of hair falling forward, her bare breasts showing through the light gauze of her blue tunic.

“Nicholas,” she all but purrs and Nick clears his throat.

“Madam, if you could kindly alert Mr Malfoy that Harry Potter is here to see him, it’s rather urgent,” Nick tells her sternly - Harry looks away, crossing his arms against his chest, curling his toes against the cool stone. Circe sighs and drifts away, reappearing a minute later.

“He’s waking up, won’t be a minute,” she says, settling back down. Harry nods his thanks, and Nick bids him a goodnight, drifting away. Circe eyes him, interested. “You’re like him, aren’t you?” she asks and Harry frowns at her.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, and she laughs, a deep throaty sound, and then she smiles at him, all teeth, like a predator.

“You and him - other men are bewitched by my portrait, can’t bear to look away, but not you two… And I heard the rumours, of course, ten years ago,” she says, and Harry feels heat rise on his cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says tightly, not willing to discuss this with a portrait for Merlin’s sake, and she laughs again, leaning back in her chair and dropping her hand down to run her fingers lightly over the back of the pig asleep by her side. A small, but cruel, smile curls at her lips.

“I’m sure you don’t,” she murmurs, her fingers stroking lightly on the pig, even as it snorts in it’s sleep. “The famed boy hero, in love with the boy with the dark past and bad choices. How _tragic_ ,” she purrs, just as the portrait door opens and cuts her off. Malfoy stands in the doorway, looking sleep-tousled and half-asleep, frowning.

“Potter?” he asks and Harry clears his throat, trying to clear Circe’s words from his head.

“I just saw Snape. In my rooms,” he adds and Malfoy’s eyes widen, before he steps aside and lets Harry through. Harry slips past him and drops heavily onto the sofa in the middle of the living room, putting his head in his hands.

“What happened?” Malfoy asks, settling into the armchair by the fireplace. He drew his wand from within the sleep of his robe and tapped it against the fireplace - a fire burst into life on the hearth. Harry let the warmth soothe him for a minute, before speaking.

“He was standing by the fireplace. He - well, his eyes were _normal_ , not like the ones on the other ghosts. And he said something about them finding something in the forest and bringing it back to the school and - oh.” Harry pauses and breathes out as realisation hits him. He knows exactly what Snape was talking about.

“Brought _what_ back into the school?” Malfoy asks, pulling his knees to his chest - his toes curl over the edge of the armchair, and Harry ignores the small flush of fondness that runs through him, blaming what Circe had said for the feeling. He interlocks his fingers and stares at the flames in the hearth, trying to remember that day, when he’s been trying to forget for the last 10 years.

“The Resurrection Stone,” he says, and Malfoy looks at him, astonished.

“One of the Hallows?” he says and Harry nods tiredly. “But - how?” 

“We found them. During that year, Hermione, Ron and I went all around the country, and somehow we managed to get all three of them. I had been carrying one all along, my Dad’s cloak, but the others…,” He pauses and shakes his head. “I dropped the stone, in the forest. I left it there, with the intention that no one would ever find it. That, I don’t know, a tree would grow over it and it would be buried and gone. How could someone have found it?” he asks Malfoy, his voice a little desperate, and Malfoy makes a movement, as if to take Harry’s hand and offer comfort, but he stops before he even leaves his armchair. Harry’s fingers reflexively tighten together.

“If it is the Resurrection Stone - it would explain _everything_ ,” Malfoy breathes and Harry nods. “It must’ve only been found recently - this year. The ghosts have been present, but at least mostly peaceful, until now.” 

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry says and Malfoy makes a noise of agreement. They fall silent, watching the fire crackle merrily for a few minutes. Malfoy moves first, unfolding himself and standing up.

“Get some sleep. We’ll go to the Room of Requirement in the morning, and see if we can find anything,” he says, leaning over Harry to get something from the back of the couch. Harry closes his eyes, subconsciously leaning into the warmth from Malfoy’s body, feeling tiredness and other emotions pull at him slightly. He opens his eyes as Malfoy steps away, holding out a blanket. Harry nods and takes it, shifting on the couch slightly so that he can lie down, pulling the blanket over him. 

With a murmur from Malfoy, the fire dims slightly, and Harry closes his eyes, letting sleep drag him under without a fight. 

**{#}**

Lessons have already started on Tuesday morning when Harry finds himself standing outside the Room of Requirement, Malfoy next to him. The door is currently invisible, though both men are looking at the wall like it would open up to them shortly.

“We need to summon the door,” he says to Malfoy after a minute, and Malfoy shoots him a glare. Apparently their impromptu sleepover has not endeared him to Malfoy. 

“You do it, then,” Malfoy says, folding his arms over his chest. Harry sighs and steps back a few paces, trying to clear his mind and thinking only one thing - _I want the Room of Hidden Things. I want the Room of Hidden Things. I want the Room of Hidden Things._ He repeats it over and over in his head as he paces back and forth, and on the third pass, he pauses and looks over. The wall is still empty, and Malfoy gives him another glare. Harry shakes his head, and breathes deeply, starting to walk again.

‘ _Please. I want to help the ghosts. I need to find something to help them_ ,’ he thinks as he walks, and with a groan, the scorched and scarred doors appear in the wall. Malfoy raises his eyebrows and then reaches for the handles, twisting them open. Harry gasps a little when he can see into the room.

The Fiendfyre had been thorough, but a lot of the items that had been damaged beyond salvaging had been removed from the room, leaving only a few clusters of items. The stone walls are still smoke-marked and the grand chandelier that hangs above them is half-ruined. They step further into the room, and let the door close behind them. 

“Where do we begin?” Harry asks, and Malfoy sighs, placing his hands on his hips. He looks this way and that, assessing the room, before sighing.

“You start from that corner, work your way into the middle. Send up sparks if you find something,” he says, gesturing at the corner he means, and Harry nods, pulling his scarlet Auror robes a bit closer around him, before walking to the corner Malfoy had pointed him to.

Once he reaches it, he tilts his head back and surveys the pile in front oh him. With a sigh, he unholsters his wand and raises it. “ _Abiungere_ ,” he says and the pile shivers and then starts to shift, sorting itself into small piles. Furniture in one, rubbish in another, and miscellaneous in another still. Once all the times tremble and the settle, Harry ignores the furniture and rubbish piles, and starts sorting through the miscellaneous pile. A few old textbooks (though not Advanced Potion-Making), some decorative items including a self-playing harp, and a rather vast collection of mismatched cutlery - nothing of interest. Harry takes a minute to flick disinterestedly in through the pile of rubbish, but abandons it quickly when he realises that it is, indeed, just rubbish. 

He moves onto the next area, and the next, sorting the items and then picking through them with much the same results. He finds an ancient leather bound book on European Magical History (and it’s effects on colonisation) which he pockets for Hermione, but other than that, he finds very little of interest. 

In another pile, he discovers something that surprises him - the Mirror of Erised. He stops for a second, still out of the Mirror’s reflection. The Mirror had obviously been moved here after it’s guard duty during Harry’s first year, as the surface of the mirror is dusty from years of disuse. A scorch mark licks at the edges of the frame, and some of the engraving has been lost to melted metal. But curiosity gnaws at Harry’s insides, and so, straightened his shoulders, he steps closer.

What he sees at first doesn’t surprise him - Jamie is standing by his knee, and Bussy is balanced on his hip. The Harry in the mirror smiles, and presses a kiss to Bussy’s cheek, ruffling Jamie’s hair. Harry smiles, something he wasn’t conscious of relaxing in his gut. But it clenches again when he sees the image change. The Harry in the mirror tilts his head back and smiles at a new figure appearing behind him - an arm slides around his waist from behind, and it’s not the slim arm of a woman, but the thicker arm of another man. This arm tightens, and Harry dare not look away from it, fearing what he might see if he were to look at who the arm belongs to. 

It’s then when he notices the flares in the corner of the mirror, sparks flying at the opposite end of the room. He turns on his heel and takes off at a run, abandoning his sorting and dodging through previous piles, scattering them over the floor. He hurdles a desk that is blocking his way and notices a roar of sound echoing around the room. He turns a corner and skids to a stop near where the sparks flew up, breathing heavily.

“Malfoy, what-?” he starts to ask and then a wave of heat brushes against his skin and Harry looks closely at what is before him.

Malfoy, standing frozen, with a spirit in flames before him. The roar of sound is the fire flaring, and Harry stares long enough to realise that the face he can see in the middle of it is Crabbe’s. He reaches forward and takes Malfoy’s hand, keeping his eyes trained on the spirit. Malfoy doesn’t move, his eyes wide and staring- Harry has to turn his face away from the ghost.

“It’s a ghost, Malfoy, it can’t hurt you, but we need to walk away now,” he says in a murmur, but Malfoy gives no sign he’s heard anything that Harry has just said. “Malfoy, we need to go,” he repeats, and again, there is no flicker of recognition. Harry pulls sharply on Malfoy’s arm, nearly sending him toppling, and that seems to wake Malfoy from whatever stupor he had been in. He looks over and catches Harry’s eyes, and Harry can see he is distraught by the vision in front of them. “Malfoy…” Harry says quietly and then another flare of heat bursts against his back. “Run!” he shouts, setting off and pulling Malfoy along behind him, their hands still clasped together. 

The heat chases them, flaring and dying with each new burst of speed, and Harry can feel the sweat soaking the back of his robes as he runs through piles and piles of junk. Malfoy flicks his wand and one of the piles comes crashing down behind them, but the fire just jumps over it and continues in it’s pursuit.

“Fiendfyre,” Malfoy breathes and Harry nods, picking up the pace a little, his boots slapping on the stone underfoot. Malfoy keeps up with him, though he sounds more out of breath than Harry, and he occasionally stumbles. Harry pulls him around the corner of one pile and sees the door ahead. Malfoy charms another pile to fall again just as Harry pulls him up the shallow steps to the door, and pulls them through it, shouldering the door shut behind them. 

Malfoy kneels on the floor and retches, while Harry leans against the wall to catch his breath. After a second, he drops to his knees on the floor beside Malfoy and grasps the other man’s shoulder, pulling Malfoy around to face him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Malfoy dry-heaves again, but nods. Harry ducks his head a little to better look at Malfoy’s face - it’s tear-stained, and pale beneath bright blotches of colour, but otherwise uninjured. Malfoy shakes his head and Harry doesn’t think, just pulls Malfoy into a hug, dragging the other man into his lap with no care for the fact that they’re sprawled on the floor in the middle of a corridor. 

Malfoy doesn’t speak, just loops his arms around Harry’s neck and presses his face against the Harry’s shoulder, body shuddering with repressed sobs. Harry closes his eyes and holds him a bit tighter. 

It’s a few minutes later when Neville comes running up to them, his face shocked. He pauses when he notices the way they’re entwined, and then crouches down.

“Harry, Draco - everything okay?” he asks and Harry shakes his head. Malfoy lets out a little hiccup. “The Friar came and got me, he said there was something wrong with the Room…?” he trails off, raising his eyebrows at Harry significantly. Harry shifts a little, trying to gain some blood-flow back into his lower legs. 

“We had a run-in with Crabbe’s ghost,” he says, rubbing a hand down Malfoy’s back. The other man leans back a little, and then lets go of Harry and slips onto the floor, rubbing a hand over his face.

“That bad, huh?” Neville asks and Harry shakes his head. Neville sighs and glances over at the wall where the door once was. He rises to stand and then reaches down and helps Harry to his feet. “Come on - let’s get a cuppa in the Teacher’s Lounge, you can fill me in,” he says, and Harry nods, reaching a hand down to Malfoy. Malfoy bats it away and stands up himself, running a hand through his hair to try and regain some order to it. There’s a smudge of ash on his jaw, and Harry reaches out without thinking, rubbing it away gently. It’s only when he realises that both Neville and Malfoy are staring at him, does he drop his hand and shove it into his pocket. He clears his throat.

“Shall we?” he asks and Neville nods, frowning a little, before turning and walking away. 

The corridors are quiet at this time, and so they don’t run into anyone on the way down to the Teachers Lounge, which is probably for the better, Harry thinks. The Lounge itself is empty, and so Harry slumps into the nearest armchair while Malfoy shakily lowers himself into one closer to the fire. Neville makes them both cups of tea and hands them over, not saying anything until the tea has cooled a little and they’ve both had sips.

“What happened?” he asks and Malfoy shakes his head, pressing a trembling hand to his mouth. Harry watches him, concerned, for a moment.

“We were investigating the Room of Requirement - we’re looking for… something. And we split up to search through things and then Malfoy-” Harry starts, gesturing over with his free hand, when Malfoy interrupts him.

“He came out of nowhere. He just… appeared, and he looked at me, and then he - the fire started.” Malfoy swallows, his throat clicking audibly. “It was like t-that night, but he was still _looking_ at me, and,” and then Malfoy reaches out his hand, stretching it out before him, and Neville makes a noise of alarm. Malfoy has been burned, severely. His skin is bright red and blistered, and Harry feels horrified that he hadn’t noticed before. Neville swears, loudly. 

“Oh God, Malfoy,” Harry breathes, and Neville stands up swiftly.

“Stay here - I’ll go get Uzoma,” he says, and then he jogs out of the room. Harry swears and leans forward, resisting the urge to touch Malfoy’s skin - Fiendfyre burns are nasty and take a hefty amount of potions to heal, and touching them will make the pain infinitely worse. Casting a spell to soothe the pain will make it unbearable.

Malfoy is staring at his hand and arm with something like awe, his skin still pale and his eyes a little glassy, and Harry remembers his Auror training. 

“Malfoy, I think you’re in shock,” he says and Malfoy makes a small noise, though he doesn’t say anything. Harry sets his mug of tea down and crouches down in front of Malfoy, balancing himself by resting a hand on Malfoy’s knee. “Malfoy!” he snaps and Malfoy’s eyes snap down to him, though they are still out of focus. “Malfoy, listen to me. Can you hear me?” he asks and Malfoy tilts his head a little, raising his other hand and holding it there for a second. Harry can see the second he makes a split-second decision, and then he feels Malfoy’s fingers start to card through his hair.

“Harry,” Malfoy says, his voice sounding a little slurred, but a small smile slipping over his lips. Harry doesn’t say anything, just watches as Malfoy hums a little to himself and runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, occasionally snagging on tangles, but petting away happily. He finds himself relaxing, still looking at Malfoy’s face, until he is half-draped over Malfoy’s legs, head tilted to look up at him. 

It’s a minute or two later when Madam Lewis and Neville come in, and Harry turns his head a little to look at them, but doesn’t move away. 

“I think he’s going into shock,” he says quietly and Madam Lewis nods and comes over, studying Malfoy’s hand from a distance. She bends over it, studying it from varying angles, and lets out a hiss through her teeth as she studies it. 

“He has some pretty severe burns - oh, dear. Neville, can you help him up to the hospital wing? You too, Auror Potter. I think you’re going to need a lie-down as well,” she says kindly, straightening. Harry nods, reaching up and taking Malfoy’s wrist in his hand and gently disentangling his fingers from their place in Harry’s hair.

Neville loops an arm around Malfoy’s back and lifts him, helping him walk as Madam Lewis bustles ahead, Harry trailing behind them. His scalp still tingles a little where Malfoy’s nails had run across it. 

Once they are at the hospital wing, Madam Lewis points to a bed where Neville sits Malfoy down. Madam Lewis disappears into her office, and reappears a second later with a small jar of ointment. She grabs a chair as she walks past and pulls it across with her, sitting down in front of Malfoy.

“We need to take your robes and shirt off, Mr. Malfoy. This is going to hurt,” she says calmly, and Malfoy nods, even as Neville reaches out and starts manipulating Malfoy’s arm out of the robe. Harry sits heavily on the bed next door and tries to ignore the groan of distress as Neville wrestles the robe off Malfoy, and then his shirt, until Malfoy is sitting bare-chested, pale and shivering, with a fine sheen of sweat over his skin. His eyes have gone glassy again, and Madam Lewis taps him lightly on the cheek - he barely flinches. 

“Goodness me,” she sighs, before unscrewing the lid of the ointment. It smells like herbs crushed under bare feet and Harry wrinkles his nose in disgust, but Madam Lewis dips her fingers in, and then starts massaging the ointment into Malfoy’s arm. 

The burns go all the way from his upper arm to the tips of his fingers, and so the process takes some time. About half-way through, Harry has shucked his robes, unlaced his boots, and lain down on the hospital bed, on his side so he can watch through half-lidded eyes. Neville is hovering close-by, and occasionally corralsstudents away from them, looking after them himself, as Madam Lewis continues to rub the ointment steadily into Malfoy’s arm, her dark skin a startling contrast to his pale.

Nearing an hour later, she sits back and picks up a cloth to wipe her hands on. Malfoy has gone limp, still sitting, and she carefully pushes and pulls him until he’s lying on the bed, a sheet covering him with his arm hanging out over the edge of the bed. She checks his eyes, presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and then sighs and straightens.

She notices Harry watching and gives him a reassuring smile.

“An afternoon of rest would do you both some good, I think. Go to sleep, Mr Potter. I’ll wake you if anything happens,” she says soothingly, and Harry doesn’t need anything further encouragement, letting sleep guide him gently downwards.

It’s only at the last moment before he disappears completely, that he remembers the owner of the arm behind him in the Mirror of Erised.

Draco Malfoy had looked good with a smile on his face. 

**{#}**

Harry wakes up when the sun is low in the sky and the deep red light is filtering through the windows, casting everything in a warm glow. He sits up and stupidly pats at his nose a few times until higher brain function kicks in and he realises someone must’ve taken his glasses off - he finds them sat on the bedside cabinet, along with a glass of water, which he drinks greedily. As soon as he sets it down on the side, it refills, and the second glass he sips more steadily, trying to catalogue any injuries his body might’ve obtained during their run through the Room of Requirement.

His right ankle is a bit tender, and so he probably twisted it slightly while running. Aside from a sore back, likely from sleeping in an odd position, he doesn’t feel too bad. He slips on his glasses and looks around.

Malfoy is still sound asleep next to him, his arm now crossed over his chest - it looks to be healing well, with only a few small blisters and a slight swelling left. Harry feels some relief at this, but he decides not to disturb Malfoy, slipping on his boots and robe as quietly as he can, before slipping out of the hospital wing.

He ambles back to his rooms and goes to his trunk, pressed up against the back wall of the room. His old school trunk looks battered and worn now, but it’s charmed six ways from Sunday. Harry releases the lock with a tap of his wand - it clicks open and he pulls the lid up, before reaching inside for the hidden compartment at the bottom of the trunk. The trick lid slides free and Harry releases the cushioning charm around the Pensieve kept hidden in there, lifting it up and out of the trunk to set it on the coffee table. 

He looks at the still surface for a minute, before going back to the trunk and pulls out the canvas vial holder, a gift from Hermione years ago. He selects one memory and places the canvas roll back in his trunk, before going over to the sofa. He thumbs the cork stopped on the vial for a minute, watching the way the firelight catches the liquid inside, and then he uncorks the vial and empties it’s contents into the Pensieve. The liquid swirls a little, and becomes a little thicker, and only then does Harry take a breath and slide into the memory.

**{#}**

He looks a lot younger - terribly young, really. There is a thinness to his frame that Harry can never remember, the way his collarbones are too visible under his skin, even peeking through the collar of his shirt, and the hollowness around his cheeks. Eighth year had been tough - Ron had opted to go work with George, and so it had been just him and Hermione, sitting alone at the end of the Gryffindor table most evenings, their fingers entwined, because their classmates and housemates never could, and never would, understand all they had been through. 

It’s on that first evening, September 1st,when this memory takes place. Memory Harry looks over at the Slytherin table to see Draco Malfoy sat alone, too. Harry knows that the rest of his year had either been imprisoned, or fled to the continent - the only one to remain in England had been Blaise Zabini, who had opted not to return. Memory Malfoy is hunched over the table, looking so removed from his former self that, even now, Harry feels something akin to pity for the boy in this memory.At the time his father had been imprisoned and Malfoy and his mother were under monitoring spells, but free (in a sense) to carry on their lives - and Malfoy had chosen to return to Hogwarts and complete his schooling.

Harry can never quite remember what possessed him that first night, but he watches from by the grand fireplace as his younger self stands from the end of the Gryffindor table, his fingers slipping free of Hermione’s, and going over to the Slytherin table. A hush descends upon the Great Hall as memory Harry stops by the younger Draco, looking down at him.

“Come on,” he says, though his voice sounds slightly warped in the Pensieve’s memory. “Sit with me and Hermione,” he offers and Malfoy looks up at him, his face gaunt and dark shadows on his eyes. His gaze flickers down to Hermione, who looks over her shoulder at him, a little bit hopeful, but then Malfoy looks back up at Harry and shakes his head. 

“Not tonight, Potter,” he says. Memory Harry smiles, nods once, and walks away.

The memory slips away into another one, but Harry remembers what happened after then - every night for weeks he would ask Malfoy to join them, and every night Malfoy had always replied ‘Not tonight,’. Until this next memory. 

Snow is falling from the enchanted ceiling, and memory Harry is standing next to Malfoy again, leaning against the table. There is some colour to his skin now, some plumpness to his cheeks that had been missing before, and his smile is genuine.

“Malfoy, come sit with us?” he asks and Malfoy looks up - he has not improved. His face is thinner still, his cheeks positively gaunt, and Harry watches him, again from the shadows, with concern. He knows this memory of the boy will grow up to be the man sleeping in the hospital wing at the moment, but like every time he travels through his memories, he forgets.

Malfoy looks up at him with such desperation that the memory Harry forgets all cocky pretences and grasps Malfoy’s shoulder, bending a little to look him in the eye. They just look at each other for a minute, Malfoy breathing heavily as he tries not to give into panic, and memory Harry’s jaw clenched shut. He nods, and straightens.

“Please, Draco - come sit with me?” he asks this time, offering his hand. Malfoy reaches out and takes it without hesitation and memory Harry leads him to the Gryffindor table, making sure that Malfoy can sit with his back to the wall, Harry on one side and Hermione opposite. 

As their meal progresses, Malfoy looks more and more relaxed, until by the end of dinner, he’s smiling into his goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry remembers that every night after, Malfoy would sit with them at the Gryffindor table, his Slytherin tie undone and shoved into a robe pocket, and before too long, he stopped being _Malfoy_ and started being _Draco_. 

The memory fades again. 

It’s Christmas.From what Harry remembers, as a celebration, McGonagall had organised a Yule Ball, similar to the one in his fourth year. The room is awash in a golden glow from the fairies who whisper from the twelve large Christmas trees Hagrid had dragged in, and an enchanted string quartet play quietly from one corner. Weeks before, Ginny had subtly asked Harry if he fancied going (which Hermione later pointed out meant that Ginny wanted to take him as a date), and so memory Harry was manhandled into a suit and dress robe (this one in charcoal grey), so that Ginny could trot him around like he was a prize show-pony.

(He might’ve been a bit bitter).

It was only a third of the way through the ball when memory Harry makes his escape - Harry follows him through the doors of the Great Hall into the corridor beyond, watching as his younger self ducks into the nearest alcove and puts his head in hands, taking deep shuddering breaths.

“I thought you would’ve been dancing,” Draco says (because the younger man, the boy, will always be _Draco_ in Harry’s mind), stepping out of the shadows. Memory Harry starts from the fright and then settles again, shaking his head.

“I don’t feel much like dancing,” he says, and Draco makes a noise of agreement, leaning against the stone next to him, his arms folded over his chest. Memory Harry looks at him, and frowns. Draco is dressed in a warm-looking dark blue jumper and a pair of trousers, with not a formal robe in sight. “Aren’t you going?” he asks, jerking his head at the doors. Draco wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.

“I haven’t much patience for niceties, these days,” he says and memory Harry barks a laugh.

“Yeah, me neither,” he says ruefully and they share a small smile. Draco leans back and clears his throat.

“I’m sure Ginevra will be looking for you,” he says, and memory Harry rolls his eyes at Malfoy’s insistence on using Ginny’s full name. Harry himself smirks a little.

“I doubt it,” his memory self says, and Draco raises his eyebrows.

“Oh?” he asks and memory Harry folds his arms over his chest, tilting his head back to look at Malfoy.

“She likes showing me off. I don’t think - well, I don’t think she’s ever really recovered from the war. From the damage it did,” he says and Draco sighs.

“Did any of us?” he asks and memory Harry snorts.

“I think I’m doing pretty well,” he argues and Draco huffs a laugh.

“You? _Merlin_ ,” he says, rolling his eyes and stepping away from the alcove. Memory Harry stands and follows him, walking further away from the hall, as Harry watches from a distance. He reaches for Draco’s arm and grabs at his elbow, pulling him to a stop.

“What do you mean?” he asks, a little angrily. Draco rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, defensive.

“Potter, you’re a wreck. We all are, but you, most of all. Your whole purpose in life was to kill Vo- _him_ , and now you have, and so you’re wondering like a soul, lost,” Draco says with a shrug. Memory Harry’s mouth drops open. The other teenager eyes him, and sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides. “You deserve to be happy, Harry. Don’t you understand that?” he says simply, and Harry can read it in his younger self’s face, the feeling that sentence invokes - the sudden sense of freedom. Memory Harry takes another step up, on a step below Draco, reaches up and threads his fingers through Draco’s hair, and pulls him down into a kiss. 

It’s short, and sweet, but Draco doesn’t push him away or running off screaming. They step apart with a small sigh and Memory Harry is looking up at Draco like he hung the stars. They smile at each other, shy, and Harry offers his hand - Draco takes it with a laugh.

The memory shifts. 

It’s months later - summer even, and their shirt sleeves are rolled up, ties loose. They are sitting by the lake, bare feet dipped into the water, and Harry sits on a nearby rock and watches. Memory Harry looks distraught.

“It’s what I want,” he says to Draco, who looks furious. 

“No - it’s what you think _they_ want,” he says angrily, a flush on his cheeks. Harry’s younger self shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but I-,” he says and Draco rocks to his feet, splashing lake water over his trouser legs. He gathers his things and storms away, and memory Harry takes a second to pick up his shoes and tie and then he runs after him. “Can’t you understand?” he shouts ahead, his voice being thrown back by the wind - Draco keeps on walking. Memory Harry jogs to keep up, while Harry just follows behind. “This isn’t about _you_ ,” Memory Harry shouts, and Draco stops and whirls around, turning sharply on his heel.

“No, of course it’s not. It’s about _you_ , perfect Potter, defeated the Dark Lord and now, once again, proving to the world that you don’t live for yourself, you live for _them_ ,” he snarls and Memory Harry freezes, hurt evident on his face. Harry shudders at the words, knowing now how true they are. Draco turns back around and breaks into a run, disappearing into the courtyard without a glance back, leaving Harry dumbstruck out on the grass. 

Harry knows, as the memory slips away and he falls back into reality, that after all these years, Draco was right.

**{#}**

Harry slips back from the pensieve to sit on the floor in front of it, breathing deeply to try and shake off the feeling of vertigo that always came from watching his own memories. He doesn’t know why he holds on to them, most of the time. But really, it is because Malfoy had been the only person aside from Ron and Hermione to voice what Harry has always wanted to hear – he was allowed to be happy. He had _earned_ it. 

Harry rolls to his feet with a groan and stands, picking up the pensieve and shutting it back in the truck’s secret compartment, cushioning charms in place. His Auror robe has fallen, crumpled, to the floor from the sofa and Harry picks it up, holding it loosely in his hands, his thumb rubbing over the Deputy Head Auror pin.

This job is going to make or break his promotion. If he succeeds, if he stops the ghosts, he will be given the rank of Head Auror, the youngest in centuries. It will give the Wizarding World what they want – the knowledge that the Boy Who Lived has dedicated his life to being the one who protects them, always. It makes bile rise in his throat.

He drops his robe and steps over it, heading into the bedroom to grab a thick jumper before heading out the door, leaving the robe behind him.

The halls are quiet except for a few students heading down to dinner. He smiles at them as he passes, making his way back to the Hospital Wing through the back corridors, rather than using the Grand Staircase. The lights are dimmer through these corridors, and the further Harry walks, the more the temperature drops.

A feeling crawls up his spine, and Harry drops his hand so it rests lightly against the handle of his wand in it’s thigh holster. He doesn’t change his pace, but keeps his head held high, listening to all the noises around him. There is the scuff of a boot behind him and Harry unholsters his wand and turns, wand drawn and a spell already on his lips.

And then he freezes.

Standing opposite him, bathed in silvery light and pale, is Remus Lupin. Harry’s wand clatters to the floor as it slips from his grasp.

“ _Harry_ ,” Lupin says with a smile, his voice an echo in the corridor. His eyes are dark, like Snape’s had been, but not the endless voids of the other spirits, and despite of it, he looks kind, and Harry aches with how much he misses him.

“Remus,” he whispers, his voice cracking half-way through the word. He takes a step forward, hand rising slightly as if to reach out and touch Lupin, who just smiles at him, his hands folded together in front of him.

“ _Hello, Harry. I’m sorry I scared you_ ,” Lupin says and Harry shakes his head, stopping a foot away, where the temperature is nearly unbearably cold. Mist rises from his mouth as he breathes.

“What are you doing here, Remus?” he asks, and Lupin tilts his head, not looking away.

“ _Severus tried to speak to you, but he was interrupted. There is something wrong, Harry. We’re not supposed to be here,_ ” Lupin says, his hands tensing slightly. Harry nods, dumbfounded. “ _We come back – we always do, every year, we relive the battle. But this year is different. The children are scared, and hurting,_ ” he says, and Harry shudders a little.

“The children?” he asks and Lupin nods.

“ _The students. They don’t understand. This year has been… so painful. We’re supposed to be sleeping,_ ” he says, his voice rising a little in desperation, and Harry nods.

“What’s causing this?” he asks and Lupin smiles a little.

“ _You know, Harry. The Resurrection Stone. Someone found it and brought it to the castle, because they can’t let go of someone who has already moved on,_ ” Lupin says, and his image flickers a little. Harry reaches out for him a little desperately.

“Wait!” he shouts and Lupin’s image stabilises a little, though he looks a little winded. “Teddy,  he’s a good kid. Really good – the greatest, probably. I just thought you should know,” he finishes a bit lamely, and Lupin blinks rapidly, giving Harry a watery smile.

“ _Thank you, Harry,_ ” he says before his image disappears, leaving Harry alone in the corridor, feeling bereft.

All of a sudden a sort of rage comes over him, a sense of injustice and anger, and Harry fists his hands and kicks the stone wall in frustration. Nothing happens, which spurs him on more. He shouts and slams a palm against the stone, and kicks it again, and again, until he’s lying on his back on the floor, breathing deeply and blinking back tears.

_It isn’t fair._

He stands after a minute and dusts himself off. He picks up his wand, thankfully unharmed after his outburst, though he hisses as the grazes on his knuckles, from punching the wall, pull with the motion. He turns and starts limping down to the hospital wing.

Malfoy is awake when he enters, buttoning up his shirt – Harry can see the fine silver scars that span up to his collarbones just peeking through the collar. He raises an eyebrow at Harry’s approach, and then the other shoots up to join it’s companion when he notices Harry’s bloody knuckles. 

“What did you do?” he asks, sounding weary and Harry shrugs and sinks into the bed opposite. 

“Met a ghost. Overcome by intense rage. Punched a wall,” he finishes lamely, flexing his hand slightly. Malfoy sighs and reaches for his wand where it rests on his bedside table, and then gestures to Harry.

“Let me see?” he says and Harry raises an eyebrow at him, questioning, before giving in and reaching over. Malfoy takes a hold of his hand in his own and curls his fingers around Harry’s, gaining a clearer view of his knuckles. “Honestly,” he sighs, raising his wand to lightly press the time to the back of Harry’s hand. “ _Episkey_ ,” he murmurs and the rush of hot-cold runs over Harry’s hand as his knuckles heal rapidly. Malfoy looks over his handiwork, leaning over to carefully check each knuckle, before nodding and releasing Harry’s hand. 

“Thanks,” Harry breathes and Malfoy says nothing, just puts his wand next to his thigh. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers linked together, and he looks up at Harry with a curious look. “Uh…?”

“The ghost, Potter,” Malfoy says, and Harry nods.

“Oh, yeah. Um, it was Remus Lupin? You remember, our Defence professor in third year, the-?”

“The werewolf?” Malfoy asks, straightening suddenly, and Harry scowls.

“No! Well, yes, he _was_ a werewolf, but not-,” he says and Malfoy shakes his head.

“Potter, no, not like that. It’s just,” and Malfoy looks away, frowns slightly. “Werewolves don’t become ghosts,” he says quietly and Harry stills.

“What?” he asks and Malfoy shakes his head.

“It’s just the way it works, Potter. Werewolves don’t become ghosts. We don’t know why, but there has never been a documented case of a werewolf returning,” he says, turning back to look Harry in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Potter - but I don’t know if that _was_ Lupin.” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, it was. I’ve seen him before. In the forest, years ago - he walked with me to meet Voldemort,” he says and Malfoy flinches a little at the name. Even ten years later, a majority of the Wizarding World were still afraid of his name, and Harry tries to avoid using it. “Maybe it’s the stone,” he says and Malfoy nods a little.

“It could be - I’ll need to go to the library to read up on it though,” he says and Harry smiles a little.

“You might be disappointed - Hermione spent ages reading up on the hallows during our year back, and she said there was very little information on their properties, or even how they worked. I think she is the only person who knows about them, really _knows_ , in the whole world,” he explains and Malfoy gives him a little half-smile.

“Is Granger still being courted by several universities for their MaD programmes?” he asks and Harry smiles.

“Only Harvard, Brown and Oxford are still in the running,” he offers and Malfoy laughs a little. He rises to stand, picking up his robe and pulling it on, wincing slightly as it brushes against his freshly healed arm. 

“We have a _day_ , Potter - we need to find that stone,” Malfoy says, and Harry can only nod in agreement. "Do you have any ideas how to find it? I have a feeling _accio_ won’t work,” he continues, and Harry tilts his head a little.

“I have an idea.” 

**{#}**

 “This is going to be _very_ dangerous,” Hermione says from the Floo that evening. Her hair is pulled back into a loose bun, and she keeps blowing tendrils out of her face, but she answered the Floo when Harry had called through and she was volunteering to help, which seems to soften Malfoy a little, though he’s still scowling a little. 

“It uses blood magic. Of course it is,” he says now, a bit waspishly. Hermione only purses her lips at him, and he backs down.

“It’s the only way to track the stone. _Accio_ won’t work as the stone, and the other Hallows, exist in a sort of magical ‘bubble’, due to the act of their creation,” she explains and Harry rolls his eyes at her.

“You still think Death created them?” he asks, before scolding himself at asking that question. Hermione looks outraged in the flickering flames.

“Dumbledore might’ve believed that they were extraordinary wizards, but using contemporary sources, we’re able to state pretty confidently that the creation of the Hallows was not done by any contemporary magic, and that leaves only-”

“ _Granger_ ,” Malfoy snaps, causing Hermione’s mouth to snap shut. “While I appreciate that this is your academic field, we do not have time for your lecture. The anniversary is tomorrow night, and the magical levels all over the school are in flux. The Wards are blighted and-.”

“The Wards are blighted?” Hermione asks, looking over to Harry. He ignores her by vigorously shaving down Hellebore roots, eyes flicking over to the potion recipe that Hermione had dictated from the Floo. “Harry?” Hermione prompts and Harry sighs, flicking the cast-offs into the nearby bin. Malfoy makes an irritated sound.

“All over, Hermione. Hairline cracks, really, but…” and he shrugs. Hermione chews her bottom lip for a second.

“Have you told McGonagall?” she asks and Harry shakes his head.

“I have. I said I would stay on to do repairs. And don’t we need her permission to use this potion anyway?” he explains and Hermione nods. Malfoy finishes finely dicing dragonfly thoraxes, and sets his knife carefully on the chopping board.

“And once the potion is brewed?” he asks, carefully not looking in Hermione’s direction. 

“You’ll need some of Harry’s blood. He’s the only known descendent of the Peverell brothers, and the blood link to the stone will allow you to trace it. Spill the potion on the ground, and it will, essentially, magnetise - it should lead you to the stone.” 

“And this definitely has to happen after midnight?” Harry asks and Hermione nods, pushing a lock of hair away from her face hastily.

“It’s Beltane tomorrow. Blood magic has a special connection to high magic, Harry, and as Beltane is one of the Sabbats…” she tails off with a little shrug, and Malfoy makes a noise of agreement. Hermione sniffs a little disdainfully, before looking a little pained. “Ginny has taken the last of her things, just so you know,” she says, and Harry stiffens a little.

“Hermione,” he says in warning, but Hermione barrels on.

“You should see the boys, soon. Albus was very upset,” she continues and Harry frowns at her.

“Hermione, _please_ \- not now. I’ll Floo you when I get home, thank you for your help,” he says and she presses her lips together in a thin-line, scowling. 

“Floo me, Harry Potter, when you get home. And come by to see your god-daughter sometime,” she says before the Floo clangs shut. Harry sighs and carefully picks up a handful of rue, tearing it roughly before putting clumps of it in the simmering cauldron set up on his coffee table, watching as the potion clouds over from a clear blue to a mottled violet. Malfoy looks over and nods a little, but carefully remains silent.

“Say it,” Harry says after a minute of silence. “I know you want to,” he adds, and Malfoy clears his throat.

“You have no idea what I want,” he says, quietly, and Harry turns to look at him, frowning. 

“Malfoy-,” he starts and Malfoy makes a small distressed noise.

“Please don’t,” he says, setting the half-plucked howlet’s wing down on the edge of the table. Harry shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortable, playing with the remnants of the shredded rue cupped in his hands, before tipping it into the potion. It turns a dark green. Malfoy remains silent, taking a steadying breathe. “I have divorce papers,” Malfoy says quietly, more to his lap than to Harry. Harry waits for him to continue, saying nothing further. “They sit in my desk at work, and I’ve signed them, but I haven’t given them to Astoria. I don’t know if I can,” he adds. 

“Why did you marry her?” Harry asks quietly, and Malfoy shakes his head, letting out a little laugh.

“Because _you_ wouldn’t marry me,” he says. Harry feels like someone has punched him, all the air leaving him at once. Malfoy just stares at his lap, before letting out a humourless laugh. “Look at us,” he says, plucking useless at the wing again. “We deserve more than this.”

“Yeah… we do,” Harry says, nodding. They lapse into silence, working together without speaking. Harry drops two segments of garlic into the cauldron, which hisses at him and turns golden. Malfoy glances over and nods approvingly, before dropping a few of the howlet’s feathers in. The potions bubbles and fades into silver. 

“Now, we wait,” he says, and Harry sighs and leans back into the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. 

They sit in silence for so long that Harry eventually gives up and goes to make a cup of tea - he taps the copper kettle sitting on the side to get it boiling while he fishes two mugs out of the cupboard above the sink. He grabs two and makes the tea, taking it back to the living room once he’s done. He hands Malfoy his mug without a word and sits back down on the sofa, slinging his legs onto it and leaning against the arm. Malfoy looks at him, dumbfounded. Harry raises an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks, and Malfoy gives him a small smile.

“You remembered how I like my tea,” he says, and Harry blinks, realising he hadn’t thought about how Malfoy liked his tea, he had just made it on auto-pilot. And then he gives Malfoy a shy smile back. Malfoy settles back in the armchair and cradles the mug in his hands, looking down at it before speaking again. “Why are you divorcing Ginevra? It was what you wanted, then,” he asks so quietly that Harry strains to hear him over the bubbling of the cauldron. He raises the mug to his lips and sips a little at the tea, even though it’s still too hot. It gives him some time to think about what he’s going to say.

“She was having an affair,” he says simply, after a moment of quiet. Malfoy’s head jerks up and he quirks an eyebrow at him. Harry continues. “She forgot to pick Albus up from his daycare one afternoon, and they couldn’t get a hold of her, so they floo’d my office. I had to take the afternoon off work, and when I walked into my house, well - there they were, in the living room,” his grip tightens on his mug a little. “I cursed him, and kicked her out. She spent the night with Ron and Hermione, and then came crawling back in the morning. We tried to figure it out, but-,” he shrugs, “I just… didn’t want to be with her anymore. I didn’t trust her, and I certainly didn’t _like_ her, not after-” 

“Not after that,” Malfoy says and Harry nods. Malfoy heaves a sigh. “Astoria wanted an open marriage, and I agreed. She could have partners, and I was welcome to as well, and I did, before Scorpius was born. But after he was, I just kept thinking, he shouldn’t see his parents like this. Not with one always away, on the arm of another man. And so I asked my solicitor for divorce papers, and they’ve been sitting, gathering dust in my desk since Scorpius was six months old,” he says, his voice trailing off. He blows a little on the surface of his tea, and then sips at it, smiling a little. “Perfect,” he breathes and Harry smiles at him, setting his mug down on the edge of the coffee table. 

“Sounds like we both made mistakes,” Harry says and Malfoy frowns.

“I wouldn’t call it that. I love my son, just as I’m sure you love yours. Albus and…?” he prompts and Harry gets up to fetch the picture from the mantelpiece in the other room, coming back and perching on the arm of Malfoy’s armchair. He hands Malfoy the picture, and leans over. 

“That’s James,” he says, pointing to his elder son, who grins toothily at the attention. “And that’s Albus,” and Bussy yawns, his tiny baby fists rubbing at his cheeks. 

“Cute,” Malfoy says, his fingers holding the frame lightly. Harry smiles and leans closer, until Malfoy is nearly tucked in to the curve of his body, both of them watching the picture in Malfoy’s hands.

“I love my sons, and I loved my wife. But… I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy, as I was during my last year here,” Harry says. Malfoy hums a little in agreement, tilting his head to look up at Harry. 

A wash of emotions flutters up from Harry’s stomach, and before he can think anything more of it, he leans that little bit further, and Malfoy’s chin tilts up to meet him, and then- 

Harry sighs into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed. His hand leaves the picture frame and comes up to lightly trace the line of Malfoy’s jaw with his fingertips, tilting his face a little more, bringing him closer. Malfoy makes a small noise, his own hand reaching up to cup the back of Harry’s neck and then to run up into his hair, causing Harry to shiver slightly. He pulls back and rests his forehead against Mal- _Draco’s_ , breathing softly.

They don’t say anything for a minute and then Draco laughs and ducks his head a little to press it to the joint between Harry’s neck and shoulder, huffing softly against his skin. 

“This is the worst possible time to be doing this,” Draco says, and Harry smiles into his hair. 

“Yeah, I know. I never did have good timing,” he says apologetically. He shifts back slightly, so he can look down at Draco’s face - the other man is looking up at him, his expression a little hopeful. “I don’t know what I want from this,” and Draco’s expression shuts down, going carefully blank. He looks away, but Harry reaches out and cups Draco’s jaw, making him turn his face back to meet Harry’s gaze. “But I know I miss you.” 

Draco nods a little and lets out a shaky breath. “Let’s finish this, and then we can… talk,” he says and Harry hums in agreement, slipping off the armchair and plucking the picture from Draco’s hands, setting it on the side. James giggles at the motion and Albus lets out an unhappy squawk. 

Harry sits back down on the sofa and picks up his mug of tea, smiling into the rim of the mug. Draco gives him a small smile, and then leans forward to check the potion. It has changed into a pewter colour. 

“It’s time for the first dose,” he says and Harry nods, setting the mug down and standing up. Draco draws a slim silver blade from his potions kit, and takes Harry’s right hand in his own, unfurling his fingers. Harry grits his teeth in preparation, and then Draco brings the blade down in a quick slice, opening up a line on Harry’s palm. The blood slowly welts and then drips into the potion below, turning it from pewter to black in a second. Draco quickly grabs a small towel that had been set aside in preparation, and presses it to Harry’s palm, then curling Harry’s fingers around it. He smiles grimly. “Another just before midnight,” he says and Harry nods.

“Just like Hermione said. And then it’ll be good to go,” 

Draco clears his throat and wipes the blade clear on another cloth, before leaving it resting on the side. “We had best go find the Headmistress, then,” he says and Harry nods, clenching the towel in his hand as Draco checks the potion, before they head out.

The hallways are quiet, due to the late hour, and on the Grand Staircase, Harry can see a few of the House ghosts floating around, patrolling. The Grey Lady glides past them, and gives him a small smile and a nod in greeting, drifting away silently. Draco quirks his eyebrow at Harry, who shrugs. “She helped, during the battle,” he says and Draco just remains silent.

The walk down to the Headmistresses office is silent, aside from their footfalls, and when they reach the statue of the Griffin, Harry announces the password. The Griffin opens one eye and ruffles his bronze feathers, but then begins to turn, and they step on. 

Harry knocks lightly on the door of McGonagall’s office, and there’s the sound of movement before she pulls it open. She is still in her fine robes, and she looks tired, though she gives them a small smile.

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy - please, come in,” she says, pulling the door open and stepping aside. They slip in and she closes the door behind them, walking back to the the desk. She sits down and moves rolls of parchment to the side, sighing tiredly to herself. She gives them both a weak smile as they sit opposite her. “How can I help you this evening?” she asks.

“This is bit of a tricky subject, Headmistress, but… We need your permission to use blood magic within the school,” Harry says and McGonagall looks shocked, her eyebrows shooting up momentarily. She casts a wary glance over the both of them, before frowning.

“And why would I agree to a thing like that?” she asks and Draco leans forward to explain.

“We believe that the reason for the unusual ghost activity is the result of the Resurrection Stone. Someone may have found it and brought it back to the castle, and the only way to trace it-”

“Is with the _Quaesitor_ potion, yes?” McGonagall finishes and they both nod. Harry shifts uncomfortably.

“I would never usually condone this, Headmistress, but given the strength of the Stone… we don’t believe we have much choice in the matter,” he says and she nods, before pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

“I thought we were done with your penchant for trouble when you left, Mr Potter,” she says and Harry gives her a crooked smile.

“It usually finds me, Headmistress,” he says and she laughs a little. She nods, resolute, and stands.

“Very well, gentlemen. You have my permission to use the potion within the school grounds,” she says, reaching out a hand. Harry lets go of the towel, moving it to his other hand, and reaches out to shake her hand - there is a little shudder of magic from the Wards, but then they settle and McGonagall sits back down, drawing in a shaky breath. She waves Draco off when he moves to go around the desk of check on her. “Go - I imagine you don’t have long to wait before you use the potion,” she says, the Harry glances over to the astronomical clock above the fireplace to see that she’s right - they only have twenty minutes until midnight. He moves the bloodied towel back to his right hand again, and bids the Headmistress a good night as they leave. 

They walk back to Harry’s room in silence, though Harry reaches out his left hand between them. Draco hesitates for a second before taking hold of it, linking their fingers together and smiling to himself. There are no ghosts in the corridors, or on the Grand Staircase as they walk, but Kavanagh surprises them by appearing from a dark corridor on the third floor.

“Kavanagh - patrol duty?” Harry asks with a smile, and he gives them a weak one before hurrying away, his robes whipping out behind him. Draco turns to look over his shoulder to watch him go, a frown on his face.

“He’s an odd one,” he says to himself, and Harry hums a little in agreement, taking them up another flight of stairs and pausing at the portrait entrance to his rooms. He taps the frame, and Ophelia jerks awake from her doze in the water. She sits up, her hair dripping down her face, and scowls at Harry, flustered.

“What?” she asks and Harry rolls his eyes.

“ _My lord, I do not know; But truly I do fear it_ ,” he recites and she sighs dramatically before the portrait swings open on it’s hinges. Harry pulls Draco in behind him, and they pause just inside the door, watching the potion bubble in the cauldron. Harry freezes and puts a hand on Draco’s chest when he moves to take a step forward. He surveys the room.

Almost nothing has moved. It looks exactly as they left it, even with the mugs sitting on the edges of the coffee table, except for one thing - the photograph of Albus and James has been turned to face down on the mantelpiece. Harry pushes the portrait door open again and talks to Ophelia, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Who else have you let in this evening?” he asks and she scowls at him, offended.

“Only another teacher,” she says haughtily and Harry shakes the frame slightly - the water ripples slightly in the painting. 

“Which teacher?” he asks and she lets out of a ‘ _hmph_!’ of annoyance and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“The new one - he’s only been here since September, and never bothered to introduce himself!” she says and Harry’s grip slackens on the frame. He turns to face Draco, who has gone a little pale.

“Kavanagh,” he breathes and Draco nods - they hurry back into the living room, and Harry glances at the clock in the kitchen - 11.58pm. He drops the towel and holds out his hand. “Do it,” he says and Draco nods, silently picking up the blade and lining it up to the previous cut on Harry’s palm - he presses the blade down and Harry hisses as the pain flares, but then it fades and blood drips into the potion, the black liquid becoming glossy and thick, bubbling at the side of the cauldron and licking upwards. Draco grabs his wand and mutters “ _Episkey,”_ and the cut closes up and heals over with a quick burn of pain. Harry shudders and then shuck his robe, dropping it to the floor, and dousing the flame beneath the cauldron. Draco hesitates a second, and then does the same, leaving him in his shirt, trousers and boots, wand drawn. Harry surveys him for a second and then nods. The clock chimes midnight. 

“Ready?” he asks and Draco nods back, his grip on his wand tightening. Together, they take the handle of the cauldron and lift it, walking hurriedly out the door, ignoring Ophelia’s shout of protest as they kick the portrait door open, cauldron balanced between them. 

They stop in the corridor and set the cauldron down, kneeling beside it. Draco touches the tip of his wand to the rim of the cauldron, and speaks lowly. “ _Sanguinem eius quem heredem instituimus , quaerens,_ ” he says, and the potion shudders and nearly causes the cauldron to tip over, but Harry steadies it. Draco takes a breath and repeats the incantation, speaking one final word. “ _Inveniemus,_ ” he says, and the potion nearly rocks the cauldron over. Harry looks over and with a nod, he and Draco push the cauldron over, sending the potion spilling to the stone floor.

For a second, it looks like a normal spill. And then the potion quivers, and reforms, becoming almost jelly-like in movement, before slithering away, taking the form of the crevices between the stone slabs on the floor. With a sharp intake of breath, Harry stands and follows it.

It leads them out to the Grand Staircase before skittering down a flight of stairs, Harry and Draco following behind at a jog. Down and down it takes them, before pausing outside the Great Hall. Harry breathes heavily, his wand heavy in his hand, as the potion deliberates, before turning to the Oak doors. It slithers away and disappears through the tiny gap between the doors, leaving Harry and Draco to drag them open themselves.

What greets them is something from a nightmare. 

The courtyard is full of ghosts, standing in ever widening circles around the centre of the courtyard where the recent scorch marks of Sophie Lyne’s death are, and where Kavanagh stands, looking pale and distraught in the moonlight. Harry surveys him from afar and he can see that Kavanagh’s hand is moving, turning the stone over and over in his palm, which causes more ghosts to blossom from no where. Harry braces himself and starts to run through them, Draco’s shout from behind him lost in the rise of cries from the ghosts Harry runs through.

“Kavanagh!” he shouts, and the other man turns around, raising his wand. Harry steps back, hands up in surrender. “Kavanagh, please - this is out of control,” he says, trying to reason with the other man. Kavanagh laughs a little, weakly, and raises his wand to point it at Harry’s face.

“No - _you_ got out of control, all those years ago, and you took hundreds of people down with you,” he says shakily, and Harry nods, agreeing.

“I did, I did, and I’m _sorry_ but this isn’t the way. You can’t punish the school like this,” he says, desperate and Kavanagh stares at him, disbelieving.

“Punishing the _school_? No, I’m trying to find them,” he says, as though stating the obvious. Harry keeps his hands up, but takes a step closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Colin Creevey, looking pained, his hair matted with silver blood. 

“Trying to find who?” Harry asks carefully, and Kavanagh scowls.

“My wife! My daughter! You should know - you came to their funeral.” Harry feels awful, terrible even, because in the weeks that followed the battle, he went to as many funerals as he could, to pay his respects to those who had given their life for him, but he cannot remember every single one. 

“I did, I’m sorry Kavanagh, yes,” he says, and he sees Kavanagh’s eyes flick to over his shoulder. Harry is half-tempted in that second to lunge for the other man, but stays very still instead. Harry turns to look over his shoulder as well, and sees Draco, hovering on the edge of the circle of ghosts, talking quietly to them.

“What is he doing?” Kavanagh asks but before Harry can answer he barges past, pushing Harry aside and walking through the ghosts. “Hey! What are you doing?!” he shouts to Draco, who turns to face him, a steely look in his eyes.

“They’re in _pain_ ,” he says, his own voice verging on distraught. “Can’t you see that? You’ve dragged them back from the other side, and they’re in agony, and you’re torturing them!” he says, and Harry tries to signal to him, desperately, to get him to stop. He keeps talking. “The dead don’t belong in the land of the living, you fool, how could you-,” and then Kavanagh flicks his wand and with a burst of light, Draco goes flying back, crashing against a stone pillar and crumpling to the floor. Harry makes a distressed sound, and makes to run to him, but Kavanagh whirls around and keeps his wand trained on Harry. 

“He doesn’t know,” he says a bit desperately. Harry stays silent. “I never got to say good-bye. I lost my wife early on in the battle, and my daughter was a student, so I thought they would keep her safe, but by the end - I found them in the Great Hall, lying next to everyone else who was sacrificed for _you_ , Potter, and I never got to say goodbye,” he says, his eyes wild and staring and Harry nods.

“I am sorry, Kavanagh - but lots of other families never got to say goodbye either, and the Stone _isn’t_ the way to do it,” he says, watching as Kavanagh’s hand moves again, as he turns the stone over again and again. Behind him, Harry can hear the sobs of the ghosts rising in distress. Kavanagh’s face contorts in rage and he spits at Harry’s feet.

“ _Liar,_ ” he shouts emphatically, raising his wand. Harry’s reactions are quick, quicker than Kavanagh’s thanks to his training, and his wand is unholstered and he has cast a _protego_ before Kavanagh’s spell reaches him. The protego flickers and fades, as Harry casts an _expelliarmus_ back, which Kavanagh dodges. Spells fly between them, Kavanagh a fine dueller, but he lacks the sheer brutality Harry has when duelling. A _diffindo_ catches Kavanagh’s shoulder and he shouts in pain as the spell slices through his arm, but he casts _bombarda_ and Kavanagh is sent flying by the resulting explosion. Harry has moved close enough to Draco to quickly check him, kneeling beside him to push his hair back from his face. His eyes are closed, and he has a head wound that is bleeding profusely, but he is breathing, and Harry lets out out a sigh of relief, before standing and raising his wand in preparation. 

“They aren’t supposed to be here, Kavanagh,” he shouts, trying to see any movement between the layers of ghosts. All of them are looking mournful now, and Harry steps closer to one, turning to see that it’s Fred Weasley. “Fred,” he says quietly and the ghost only lolls his head to the side, looking at Harry with the unnerving black voids all the ghosts have. “I’m gonna get you out of here, promise,” he promises the ghost, who only tilts his head back down. Harry’s chest aches, and his momentary distraction proves to be a bad decision - Kavanagh hits him with a _Everte Statum_ , sending Harry flying to the ground. 

Harry rolls out of the landing, wand clutched to his chest even as he lands on his arm in an awkward way, causing a lance of pain to shoot up his arm. Harry kneels up, gasping a little, watching as Kavanagh approaches, the stone still in his hand. He raises his wand to cast a final spell, but a ghost steps out of the amassed crowd and latches on to his robe.

“ _Da_ ,” she says, in a sweet lilting voice. Her hair is dark and pulled back into two braids, and her uniform is singed and tattered in place, her knees scuffed and her free hand hanging at a funny angle. Harry stares at her, as much as Kavanagh does.

“Mary,” he breathes, reaching out a hand to her - it passes straight through, and his face contorts with pain. The girl steps back a little, her hand still grasping the robe, dragging the fabric with her, forcing Kavanagh to walk with her. 

“ _Da,_ ” she repeats and Kavanagh’s face crumples, his hand going lax and dropping the stone - Harry keeps an eye on it, but doesn’t move, still kneeling on the cobblestones. Another ghost steps forward and takes a hold of the other side of his robe, this one a woman with messy hair and a limp, half of her face and shoulders covered in mottled bruises, a never-healed bloody nose dripping blood down her chin. 

“ _Finn_ ,” she breathes and Kavanagh turns to face her, his mouth dropping open.

“Annie,” he says and she stares at him, her face blank, even as Kavanagh starts to cry. “Annie, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry my love, I couldn’t-”

“ _Finn_ ,” she says again, and then she yanks on his robe. “ _How could you_?” she asks, her voice a thousand miles away and Kavanagh gapes at her.

“To see you again, darling, to see you both and to say-” 

“ _Goodbye_ ,” Annie and Mary say, and then they pull him, drag him even, in the crowd of ghosts. A strange rumbling starts beneath Harry’s knees and he stands and lunges for Draco, falling over him and covering his upper body and head, as the rumbling intensifies. There is chorus of screams, a burst of magical energy which hits them like a truck, and then Harry - 

**{#}**

Daylight is filtering through the hospital wing windows as Harry opens his eyes, groaning in the back of his throat, his throat dry and sore. 

“Ah, welcome back, Mr Potter,” Madam Lewis says as she bustles over, helping him to sit up. She passes him a glass of water and a mug of steaming potion. “Drink these, both of them. The potion is to help with your arm - you had a nasty fracture,” she says without any pre-amble, and then she disappears from his line of sight. Too exhausted to argue, Harry sips alternately at the water, and at the potion, until both are empty. He flexes his right hand, ignoring the pull on the faint red line that marks where his hand had been sliced, and reaches for his glasses, slipping them on. 

His bed in the hospital wing has been curtained off, and he stands to pull back the curtains, allowing him to look around - the rest of the room is empty. He climbs back into his bed just as Madam Lewis approaches, and she gives him a half-smirk, as if fully aware that he’s been up and out of his bed.

“How do you feel?” she asks him and Harry quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Like I’ve been trampled by a Hippogriff,” he answers, his voice raspy and she smiles at him.

“That’s what you get for duelling in the courtyard at midnight,” she says, her voice a bit teasing and Harry smiles at her. She picks up the glass and mug and makes to leave, but Harry stops her.

“Wait - where’s Draco?” he asks her worriedly and she gives him a small, reassuring smile.

“Mr Malfoy’s head injury wasn’t too severe - I patched him up, let him rest for a few hours, and then let him go. I think he’s packing his rooms,” she says and Harry kicks the bed sheets off and summons his clothing, freshly laundered from the Elves. “Mr Potter!” Madam Lewis says in protest and Harry ignores her.

“Sorry - but I’m not letting him walk out of this castle without me,”he says with a frown and she rolls her eyes, but steps aside as Harry pulls on his boots and runs for the door. 

He practically sprints to Draco’s rooms, dodging around students who look startled, before pausing outside Circe to take a breath. She smiles at him, twisting a goblet in her hands. “He isn’t here,” she says, not meeting his eyes. “He left, about two minutes ago,” she purrs and Harry rubs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Did he say where he went?” he asks and Circe frowns at him.

“Didn’t say, I’m afraid,” she murmurs and Harry rolls his eyes and turns to run off, but she clears her throat and he looks back at her. “He’s a nice boy - don’t hurt him,” she says, turning her dark eyes to search his face and Harry nods, resolute, before taking off at a run again, ignoring the stitch in his side. 

He takes the steps on the Grand Staircase two at a time and leaps the final few inches of a turning staircase, ignoring the shouts of students as he pushes past them. He runs through the entrance corridor, and out into the sunlight of the courtyard, where it seems that summer has finally arrived. Up ahead, he can see a figure walking towards the gates of the castle, a trunk floating behind him. 

“Wait!” he shouts, setting off again, pushing his legs to run as fast as he can, his thighs and calves burning by the time he catches up to Draco, who turns at the last second to watch him run up.

“What are you _doing_?” he says, disbelieving, as Harry grabs his shoulders and pants, trying to find the air in his lungs to speak.

“You’re - not - leaving - here - without - me,” he gasps out and Draco’s face is disbelieving and then he laughs, letting his trunk drop to the ground. He reaches forward and rests his hands on Harry’s hips and smiles up at him.

“Idiot boy,” he says teasingly, and Harry frowns at him. “I’m going to fetch Scorpius. I’ve spoken to the Headmistress, and she said I was welcome to bring him to the castle for the anniversary, but she wanted me around to keep an eye on the activity, to make sure it’s settled,” he explains and Harry feels a flush come over his cheeks.

“Oh,” he says and Draco laughs again, leaning up to kiss Harry’s cheek. 

“Yes. Now, go back to the castle and rest - I’ll be back a bit later this afternoon,” he says and Harry steps back letting him go with a nod. Draco turns to start walking away again, before letting out an ‘ _oh!_ ’ and turning back, reaching into his satchel to pull something out. “I nearly forgot,” he says, taking out a small black pouch. Harry takes it from him and opens it, turning the contents out into his hand - the Resurrection Stone falls out, it’s black surface catching the sunlight. Draco inclines his head at it. “I thought you might want to find somewhere to put it - to keep it from no one ever using it again,” he says, and Harry nods.

“I will - thank you,” he says. Draco nods, and walks away, flicking his wand at his trunk, causing it to leap in the air and then bob behind him as he walks away. Harry curls his hand around the stone and clutches it tightly, so tempted to turn it over and over, to see the spirits of his loved ones again, but he stops himself, turning to walk back towards the castle, but veering off at the last second to go towards the lake.

He walks quietly around the edge of the lake, watching as the giant squid fans it’s tentacles lazily on the surface of the water, until he reaches the White Tomb.

There are flowers adorning it’s gleaming surface, and a Forever-Burning Candle flickers gently from the head of the tomb. Harry sighs, and releases his death-grip on the stone, turning it three times over in his hand and closing his eyes 

When he next opens them, Albus Dumbledore is standing before him, a small smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. 

“ _My dear boy_ ,” he says and Harry ignores the burn of tears in his eyes.

“Professor,” he greets. Dumbledore just continues to smile at him, and Harry holds out the stone in his hand, palm up. “I thought that it might be best if you were to look after this, Sir,” he says and Dumbledore inclines his head.

“ _And you wanted permission to open my grave?_ ” he asks and Harry nods. Dumbledore clasps his hands in front of him. “ _Open away, Harry. I think you are making a wise choice,_ ” he says and Harry sags a little, relief flooding his system. Dumbledore tilts his head a little, the sunlight catching on the leaves of the trees around them, causing his image to become dappled by the sunlight. “ _But I think there is something else you wished to ask me_ ,” he says and Harry nods again, ducking his head. 

“I think I made a decision years ago, based on what I thought I wanted, but was actually about what everyone else wanted _for_ me,” he says and Dumbledore hums a little.

“ _Ginevra?_ ” he asks and Harry sighs.

“A little. I wanted so much to be normal, to be nothing else but an ordinary man with a wife and children, and then-” 

“ _And then you came to the understanding that normal doesn’t always mean happiness?_ ” Dumbledore suggests and Harry makes a noise of agreement. Dumbledore tilts his head down, his glasses sliding a little down his crooked nose, and his eyes twinkle in the light. “ _Do not be afraid to be happy, Harry. You, above all, are deserving of it._ ” he says and Harry sighs, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“Thank you, Professor. For everything,” he adds and Dumbledore smiles at him. 

“ _Do not forget, Harry - Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light,_ ” he says, before fading into nothing. Harry sighs, and takes his wand out, tapping it to the edge of the sarcophagus’ lid. It shifts and opens just a crack, enough for Harry to drop the stone into, and then it shifts back into place. He pats the white stone and smiles.

“Sleep well, Sir,” he says quietly, before leaving the small grove and walking back to the castle.

**{#}**

Draco keeps his word. At dinner time, he is back at Hogwarts, walking into the Great Hall with his son balanced on his hip. Scorpius is a wisp of a boy with a shock of white blond curls, which Draco keeps pushing back from his son’s face. A few of the female students were quickly enamoured with the little boy over dinner, when he starts talking in a quiet lisp with Hagrid, who is beaming happily down at him. 

Draco looks over at Harry and gives him a smile, but then turns back to Scorpius and cuts up a few sausages on his plate, and directs the boy to eat.

The seat where Kavanagh once sat is glaringly empty. 

Harry eats in mostly silence, talking quietly to Neville every now and then, but as the evening wears on, a sense of melancholy falls over the school, and by the end of dinner most of the students are silent, as are the staff. Headmistress McGonagall stands and addresses the students.

“Tonight is the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. All of you will know the story well, and will also know the loss that Hogwarts suffered that night - not only the loss of our students, but our teachers, parents and friends. As always, there will be an midnight vigil in the courtyard, please speak to your Head of House if you wish to attend. Tomorrow, there will be no classes, but I encourage you to gather, in your Common Rooms, or down here in the Great Hall, to remember those who were lost, and what they fought for - our freedom. Good evening,” she says and the students start to filter away, so of the upper years coming up to the head table and talking to their Head of Houses. A Hufflepuff sixth-year approaches, and looks lost for a second, until Harry gestures her over.

“Do you want to come tonight?” he asks and she nods, looking a bit teary. Harry smiles at her, encouragingly. “I’ll let the Headmistress know. What’s your name?” he asks and she clears her throat.

“Caroline Bones,” she replies, and Harry nods.

“I imagine you’ll be honouring Amelia Bones, tonight,” he says and she gives him a watery smile.

“My Aunt,” she says and Harry sighs.

“She was a good woman,” he says, and Caroline says nothing, but turns away and walks out the doors. Her approaching him seems to be all the permission the Hufflepuffs need, and they approach Harry in turn, and he notes down their names and gives them reassuring smiles. By the time the Great Hall is empty, Harry has a list of twenty Hufflepuffs who will be attending tonight. McGonagall gives him an approving smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she says, taking the list off him - he has scribbled it down on a napkin with a shaven down pencil Neville had fished out of his robes. “Will you be attending this evening?” she asks, and Harry smiles at her.

“Of course, Headmistress,” he agrees. 

When he stands to leave the table, Malfoy has already taken his son and left, and so Harry ambles back to his rooms, kneeling down by the Floo and throwing a pinch of powder in, calling out Hermione’s name. It takes a minute but she appears in the flames, giving him a sour look.

“You’re a fool, Harry Potter,” she scolds him, and Harry sighs at her.

“What did I do this time?” he asks and she makes an outraged sound, fishing around behind her to grab something, before shoving a letter into the flames - he can only make out Draco’s signature before she reappears. 

“You got yourself into a duel! Again! At Hogwarts!” she says, her voice increasing in pitch with every exclamation. Harry winces. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he says and Hermione glares at him.

“Are you sure?” she asks, and Harry rolls his eyes at her. She huffs at him. “Fine. What were you floo’ing for?” she asks and Harry gives her a small smile.

“To Hogwarts, for the anniversary tomorrow. And I wanted to know if you could bring Jamie and Bussy with you?” he asks and Hermione’s expression softens.

“Of course we’ll be there. We were planning on it - I’m sure we can bring Jamie and Bussy too, but Ginny is probably coming, and-”

“Hermione,” Harry said, interrupting her a little. “It’ll be okay. I promise. I just… I want my sons here, for this,” he says and she nods, looking a bit tearful. “I’ll be at the midnight vigil tonight, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he says and she sighs shakily and bids him a good-night.

Harry reads until half-past eleven, and then takes a stroll down to Draco’s room. Circe grins wickedly at him from her portrait, which Harry ignores in favour of asking her to let Draco know he’s outside. The blond man slips out a few minutes later, pulling his robe over his shoulder. He smiles at Harry, who finds himself a little overcome with emotion, and leans down a little to kiss Draco’s cheek. Draco tilts his head at the last minute and their lips meet in a chaste, sweet kiss, before Harry steps away.

“Scorpius settled okay?” he asks and Draco smiles, reaching out to take his hand. 

“He’s asleep, and I’ve got an Elf watching him in case he wakes up, but he should be fine,” he says as they start to walk towards the Grand Staircase. Harry nods.

“Hermione and Ron are coming tomorrow - and hopefully, my sons are too. I think a lot of the Weasleys and extended family are planning on coming this year,” he says and Malfoy tightens his hold on Harry’s hand a little, but makes a small noise of acknowledgement. Harry squeezes his hand a little, reassuringly. “It’ll be fine,” he says and Draco tilts his head to look at him.

“Do you promise?” he asks and Harry smiles.

“Of course,” he replies, and Draco gives him a warm smile. They stay quiet on the rest of the walk down to the Entrance Courtyard, until the reach the Oak doors. Flitwick is handing out candles and McGonagall is standing with an already lit candle in her hands, letting everyone light their candles from hers. Harry takes a candle from Flitwick, still holding Draco’s hand, and leans over to light it from McGonagall’s.

“I’m glad you realised,” she mutters to him, quietly, and Harry smiles at her, watching the wick of his candle burst into life.

“Me too,” he agrees and she looks at him, a bit tearful, even as Draco lights his candle too. 

They walk into the courtyard, finding that it’s crowded with the amount of students and faculty attending, and so Harry tries to wedge them in a small gap, but Cadwallader stops him.

“Potter!” she calls, gesturing and Harry frowns, stepping towards her. She gives him a small smile, and it grows bigger when her eyes flick down to their joined hands. Harry tightens his hold and doesn’t let go. “We thought it would be appropriate if you stood by the archway, Potter,” she says and Harry looks over at where she means - the main archway that you half to walk through from the stone bridge, to get into Hogwarts. He nods, and makes to let go of Draco’s hand, but Cadwallader stop him. “Both of you, if you like,” she says and Harry nods his thanks at her, walking across the courtyard to hushed murmurs, standing by the stone archway with his candle flickering in the light.

“What’s going to happen?” he asks Draco, who shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and Harry nods. The clock tower from deeper in the school strikes midnight, and a hush falls over the crowd. 

In the darkness of the entrance hall, Harry can see shapes flicker into life, and begin walking towards the courtyard. A chill falls over the courtyard itself, and all their candles flicker dangerously, but hold their flame. And then the low, quiet sound of singing starts.

“ _O chì, chì mi na mòr-bheanna_

_O chì, chì mi na còrr-bheanna_

_O chì, chì mi na coireachan_

_Chì mi na sgoran fo cheò.”_

Harry shivers in the cool air and feels the hair rise on the back of his neck. The first ghosts steps out into the moonlight, and Draco gasps beside him - Fenella Trask, her voice high and clear, is singing. She steps forward again, and a row of ghosts appear behind her, their voices rising as well to meet hers and form a beautiful, haunting melody. 

They keep singing and walking, rows upon rows of ghosts stepping from the shadows of the castle into the courtyard. From his place by the archway, Harry can see most of their faces clearly, and smiles a little as Lupin walks forward, Tonks beside him, both of them looking peaceful. 

The song rises as the vigil attendants start to sing as well, joining their voices together.

“ _Chì mi gun dàil an t-àite san d'rugadh mi_

_Cuirear orm fàilte sa chànain a thuigeas mi_

_Gheibh mi ann aoidh agus gràdh nuair a ruigeam_

_Nach reicinn air tunnachan òir,_ ”

As she approaches Harry, Fenella looks at him, really looks at him, and then smiles and steps through the archway, disappearing into the night. The next row of ghosts follow her, and the next, and Lupin does the same as Fenella, stopping with Tonks to look at Harry and smile, before stepping through and disappearing. Fred stops as well, and Colin, and Lavender, until the final row of ghosts have walked through the archway, and only the living sing.

“ _Fàilt' air na gorm-mheallaibh, tholmach, thulachnach;_

_Fàilt air na còrr-bheannaibh mòra, mulanach;_

_Fàilt' air na coilltean, is fàilt' air na h-uile -_

_O! 's sona bhith fuireach 'nan còir.”_  

**{The End}**

 

**Author's Note:**

>   * The opening poem is the first verse of ‘Unbidden’ by Rae Armantrout. 
>   
> 
>   * The song sung at the vigil is ‘Chì mi na mórbheanna’, a Scottish Gaelic song traditionally associated with mourning, originally by John Cameron. I’ve used only the chorus, the first and the last verse here. The lyrics are translated as;  
>  _Chorus_  
>  Oh, I see, I see the great mountains  
>  Oh, I see, I see the lofty mountains  
>  Oh, I see, I see the corries  
>  I see the peaks beneath the mist  
>    
>  _First Verse_  
>  I see as I linger the land of my birth;  
>  I am welcomed in the language I cherish.  
>  I will receive there hospitality, and love when I reach it  
>  That I'd trade not for tons of gold.  
>    
>  _Last Verse_  
>  Hail to the blue-green grassy hills;  
>  Hail to the great peaked hummocky mountains;  
>  Hail to the forests, hail to all there,  
>  Content I would live there forever.
> 

> 
> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/102513.html).


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